by Tarah Benner
Amory.
I crawled on my hands and knees through the smoke until my hands found his arm. Please don’t be dead.
“Haven!”
“Are you hit?”
“I’m . . . I’m all right,” he coughed. “You?”
“I’m — yeah,” I choked, gagging on the acrid air.
I opened my eyes cautiously, squinting through the smoke. Amory was lying back against the truck, but he was still in one piece. I threw an arm around him and looked around.
The PMC officers were gone, languishing in the flames. The smell of burning hair, flesh, and polyester stung my nostrils, and Logan bent over and retched on the ground.
The explosions hadn’t touched our people, who were poking their heads out over the trucks hopefully. No one seemed nearly as shocked as I was.
Then Godfrey strode out from behind the house wearing an expression of grim satisfaction.
“Why didn’t we think of that?” Logan coughed.
Explosives were his specialty. I wasn’t sure how I’d forgotten, though now I realized he’d been building homemade bombs in the shed.
I glanced up toward the road, searching for more officers, but I didn’t see anyone. The relief I felt mixed with horror and dread. I didn’t want to be here when the fire died down, but we needed to know if any officers had survived.
Worst of all, we needed to know if any of our men had survived.
Roman.
I didn’t know if he was dead or alive, and the thought gave me a surprisingly strong ache in my gut.
Roman and I had never been friends exactly, but he was part of the family I’d known on the farm since the very beginning. He and I had formed a grudging acceptance of one another, and if he was gone, I knew I would feel the loss.
We all waited, holding our breath. We didn’t dare approach the road in case the remaining PMC had planned an ambush.
But then I heard footsteps. Everyone’s heads snapped toward the drive, listening to the scuff of boots on gravel.
Just as the smoke began to clear, I could see half a dozen figures rounding the bend. Several rebels raised their weapons, preparing to shoot down the officers who had survived.
But I didn’t see the flash of PMC whites. The figures were too close to be shadows. They were clad in rebel black.
Walking in the middle, toting an AK-47 from a dead officer in each hand, was Roman.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It took the rest of the day to clear up the devastation from the attack. Several men in Roman’s squad had been killed, and many more were wounded. I served as Amory’s assistant, removing bullets, cleaning and bandaging wounds, and getting the injured rebels settled in bed.
When the bodies had been cleared away and all the wounded had been treated, I gathered around the kitchen table with the others.
With five wounded men sprawled out on cots in the living room, we couldn’t conduct our meeting in secret, but we needed to plan our next move.
“Any thoughts?” grumbled Roman.
Logan rolled her eyes. The joy of finding Roman alive had worn off slightly since the attack.
Sitting there nursing a black eye from the butt of an officer’s gun and scrapes from asphalt all down his arms, Roman looked even more smug than usual. I could tell he was incredibly pleased with himself — even if he had let half the PMC’s forces slip past the blockade.
“We can’t take another attack like that,” said Greyson. “Not with twenty men.”
Godfrey let out a breath of frustration. “Not with fifty men. The PMC won’t underestimate us again, and we can’t recruit fast enough. But maybe we can distract the PMC by taking out some of their supply lines in the Midwest.”
“Like Rulon did, you mean?” Amory asked sharply.
“No . . .” Godfrey cracked a shifty grin. “Not entirely. I’ve got more style.”
“Oh, we know,” muttered Greyson.
“I say we do it,” said Logan. “If it buys us more time.”
“If we could just hold them off until summer . . .”
“What’s that going to do?” snapped Roman. “A few months —”
Godfrey shut him down with a single look. “It’ll give us time to recruit and train a proper army. This group of misfits may have gotten us through on sheer piss and luck, but we won’t survive a second wave of attacks. Mark my words.”
“He’s right,” said Logan. “We need to double down on our forces. I don’t care if we have to bring twenty more people into this house.”
“The men we have need more training,” said Amory. “We’re hemorrhaging ammunition, and we won’t be able to afford missing shots at the PMC next time.”
I nodded, feeling slightly numb at the prospect of rallying for another fight. I was starting to think I wasn’t cut out for this — the constant fear and having so many people’s lives in our hands.
I knew we needed to gather the survivors for a debriefing. Even though we’d managed to overpower the PMC, it didn’t feel like a victory. We’d lost too many people.
Logan and Greyson gathered our forces in the front yard, and I scanned the waiting crowd nervously. They looked tired but satisfied. Perhaps they were more resilient than I gave them credit for. They certainly looked stronger than I felt. I was overwhelmed.
I nudged Amory, hoping he would understand. I couldn’t address these men. I could barely stand.
He looked surprised but gave me a tender look and stepped up beside me. He cleared his throat, and the crowd fell silent.
“You all fought well today,” he said. “Truly. You pulled together to operate as a unit and performed much better than we could have ever expected. We managed to subdue the enemy . . . but the PMC will return.”
He paused. His hands were hanging loosely at his sides, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists, which were shaking slightly.
“We lost six men and women today, and more are wounded.”
Amory swallowed, and I took a long, deep breath, hoping it could somehow steady him, too.
“We feel their loss, but we cannot dwell on the people we failed to save.”
Amory’s voice caught, and for a moment, I wondered if he would continue. There was a line in his brow, and I ached to take his face in my hands and smooth it out.
“We have to think about what we have left to lose — everything we have that’s still worth fighting for.” His eyes flickered to me, and my breath hitched. “Personally, I still have a lot I’m fighting for. And even if your loved ones are gone, we all still have our freedom. That alone is worth saving.”
He took a deep breath, and for a moment, everyone just stared.
There was a long pause as Amory’s words sank in, and I wondered briefly if the others would give up and abandon us — if they were too scared to continue.
But then a man in the back clapped his hands together, and the sound spread to the front until it was a solid wave of noise. People cheered and nodded as though Amory had spoken to them personally, and I had the strong urge to wrap my arms around him.
He stood there, looking slightly awkward from the attention but stronger than ever. His eyes were blazing with a bravery I loved, and his shoulders were strong despite the weight he carried.
He glanced over at me, unsmiling, holding me frozen in place with the intensity of those eyes. There was a question and a challenge dancing behind his stormy gaze, but I couldn’t move or even speak.
Right then, our thoughts were connected, and I knew that Amory was what I was fighting for.
After Greyson and I helped the wounded men to bed, we walked back to the house together in the dark. The farm was strangely peaceful after all the shooting and the bombs, but it felt as though we were waiting for something much worse.
We didn’t know what was coming next — only that something would come. The PMC would not allow us much peace now that we had killed nearly thirty of their soldiers.
“What was with you and Amory today?” asked Greyson out of
nowhere.
I stopped walking, taken aback. “What?”
Had we been that obvious?
“After his speech. I thought you two were going to start making out right in front of everyone.” He grinned. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It was a good speech, but —”
I shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”
My face was burning up, and I was glad it was dark.
Greyson grinned. “I’m just saying . . . it’s about time. We need you guys to make up, actually. Amory’s been a little off his game since . . .”
“Since?”
Greyson stopped, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Since you were taken. You should have seen him those two months you were gone. He was . . . he was tough to be around.”
I stared at Greyson. The way he said “you were gone” made it sound as if I’d been on vacation or something.
He seemed to sense my unease, because he started walking again, raking an agitated hand through his curly hair. I was glad to see it was fanning out around his face again now that his prison crew cut had grown out.
“Then you came back, but nothing was the same. It was like you were a stranger to him.”
When Greyson turned to look at me, his dark eyes were serious. “He’s not been able to trust many people in his life, and you . . . you were important to him.” He smiled. “You’re still important to him.”
I bit back a grin.
Greyson was lecturing me about Amory. My best friend was defending my . . .
Well, Amory wasn’t “my” anything. The thought gave me a twinge of sadness.
“I know,” I said. “I’m not the same . . . but I am myself again. As much as that’s possible.”
“Are you?” It wasn’t an accusatory question. Greyson seemed happy to hear me say it.
“I think so. I remember most things.”
“And Amory? Do you still like him?”
I swallowed twice, trying to keep the words down, but they burst from my lips as though they’d been trying to get out. “I think I might love him.”
Greyson’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You love him?”
I nodded. “I think I have for a while.”
We paused, me giving Greyson time to process. I wasn’t sure why I’d told him instead of Logan — maybe because Greyson tended to be reflective rather than reactive when he got news like this.
“You have to put things right with Amory,” he said. “Soon.”
“Put things right?”
Greyson raised an eyebrow. “We all saw you two fight, Haven. There’s so much . . . tension between you two. Amory’s still licking his wounds. He feels rejected.”
“Rejected? I didn’t remember him.”
He laughed. “That’s almost worse. Trust me, when you go from being something to nothing to a girl, it makes you . . .” He trailed off, searching for words. “Just know that Amory’s handled it really well considering everything.”
“I know he has,” I said, a little defensively. “And he could never be nothing . . . not to me.”
“Put yourself in his position — having to keep you at arm’s length when he used to be able to . . . do whatever he wanted with you.”
I felt my face growing hot. I wanted to extricate myself from this conversation as quickly as possible. Greyson was my best friend, but we didn’t talk about this stuff.
In the past, Greyson might have been the better choice for Amory-related advice since he had a more objective opinion than Logan. But now that he knew Amory, he was invested, too. Amory was his friend as much as I was.
We had reached the house, and a lone figure overlooking the field came into view. It was hard to tell in the light of the small fire he’d made, but it had to be Amory.
“Go,” said Greyson. I could tell he was smirking. “Not doing anything is much harder than telling him.”
“I just . . . I feel like I’ve waited too long,” I said.
Greyson laughed. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d heard the things he tells me. He loves you, Haven. He’d wait forever. But you shouldn’t make him.” His expression became grave. “I don’t think we have forever.”
Before he could stop me — before he could feel awkward or diffuse his own kindness — I threw my arms around his neck and squeezed. “Thanks,” I muttered into his jacket.
“Don’t mention it.”
I pulled away, and he backed toward the house. Even as his features disappeared into the darkness, I knew he was wearing a mischievous grin.
It felt like a long walk out to where Amory was sitting. It struck me as odd that he was out here, considering it was Roman’s night on duty. Maybe Roman was out there somewhere, stalking through the trees looking for carriers, and Amory had just come out because he couldn’t sleep. His rifle was lying in the grass next to him, as though he didn’t think he’d be needing it.
“Hey,” I whispered, not wanting to startle him by sneaking up behind him.
He jumped, spinning around, and his face fell into a relieved expression when he saw it was me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
But he was already smiling, truly happy to see me. Maybe I was imagining it, but there seemed to be a slight droop of sadness to his eyes. He looked tired and beaten down — as though he were muddling through everything himself, despite his encouraging speech.
“No. I’m glad you’re here,” he said, spreading out his blanket so I could sit down.
It was freezing, but he was only wearing cargo pants and the same black rebel jacket he’d worn in camp. His gloveless hands were shoved into his pockets, yet I was shivering in the huge down coat I’d found in Ida’s closet.
I certainly wasn’t dressed for any romantic declarations. I’d at least changed out of my bloody clothes, but I hadn’t even combed my hair that day. It was lying all over my shoulders in unruly waves.
Meanwhile, he was sitting there, eyes smoldering, looking annoyingly sexy despite everything that had happened.
“I’m sorry about today,” I said. “I know how hard it must be to watch someone die like that and . . . and not be able to do anything.”
Amory took a long, labored breath. “The thing is . . . I knew he was going to die. But I still feel like I failed.”
“No!” I said, taken aback. “You didn’t fail. You were amazing today.”
Amory looked at me, and I was a little embarrassed by the naked passion in my voice.
I cleared my throat. “You did so much better than me. I couldn’t have rallied the men like you did. Earlier I . . . I just choked. I’m not cut out for this.”
“What?” Amory leaned in closer. “Yes, you are.” He sighed. “You’re a leader, Haven. That’s one of the reasons I pulled you into the ring to fight that night. I wanted them to see how good you are. These guys . . . they’re guys’ guys. They needed to see that you could hold your own before they’d let you send them into battle.”
“That’s not really why you fought me,” I reminded him.
His mouth lifted into a crooked smile, and I could have sworn I saw him blush. He dug the heel of his boot into the grass, looking anywhere but at me. “It’s one of the reasons.”
I knew then I couldn’t fight all the feelings that were rushing through me. It wasn’t just that Amory believed in me and trusted me when no one else did; Amory and I understood each other better than anyone.
Only he knew what I had gone through when I was Aryus’s prisoner, and he loved me despite how messed up I had been. He was steady and kind and courageous.
“You know . . . most of the time, I only feel like I can do this because of you,” I whispered.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and I could see his jaw muscle twitching. His features looked all the more pronounced in the dancing firelight, and I could tell he was holding something back — as though he didn’t want to hope for anything.
My face was growing hot, but I kept talking. “You’re the only one who believes in me most of the t
ime.”
He shook his head. “You keep us going. Everybody knows that.”
“But you’re the one who keeps me going. You’re what I’m fighting for in all this.”
Before I could stop myself, I had reached out and touched his leg.
He took in a big breath of air, his whole body stiffening, and I pulled it away.
I cursed myself silently. I was throwing this all at him too quickly. I couldn’t expect to push him away for weeks and then ask him to come back to me.
“Amory, I . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through when you got me out. I’m sorry you thought I remembered everyone but you. I know you think I was pretending, but those memories of us were buried so deep. I think World Corp must have done something to make sure I forgot you.”
He sighed, shoulders sagging. I realized he thought I was breaking things off for good. He thought I would never remember.
“These past couple weeks, though . . . my memories have been coming back.”
Amory looked up, and that hope was back in his eyes.
“You remember me?” he croaked. “Us?”
I nodded. “Yes. But I didn’t even have to remember. I started to like you all over again — not because of the memories of what we used to be like, but because of how we are now.”
He looked away. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. I knew he was processing that thought, but I couldn’t stop or I would lose my nerve.
“I know I pushed you away. I know it might be too late to pick up where we left off, but . . .”
“Too late?” he gasped. “Are you kidding?” He shook his head, shoving down his own hope. “Please don’t say this for my benefit, Haven. I don’t want to be without you, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with me — even if you have remembered.”
“You told me to tell you what I want. I want to be with you,” I whispered, feeling my face grow hot as I said it. “If you want me.”
His eyes met mine, and he looked as though I’d gone crazy. “Haven . . . I’ve always wanted you.”
Those words sent my heart into overdrive. That was all I needed to hear. It was all I’d ever needed.