Three

by Kristen Simmons

  DeWitt stood before them. “The north wing is off-limits except by permission of the council. If you all will find a seat in the cafeteria, I’m sure I can talk our cook into throwing together something for you to eat.”

  “What’s in the north wing?” asked Billy.

  “Weapons depository,” answered DeWitt. I had a feeling guns and ammunition weren’t the only things these guards were protecting.

  “But we get our own weapons back,” prompted Billy.

  DeWitt smiled, but didn’t answer.

  “Sir, our injured made camp near the safe house wreckage,” said Chase. “They’ll be running out of supplies soon.”

  In my admiration of the compound, I’d completely forgotten about the rest of the group, fending for themselves at the mini-mart. The guilt settled between my shoulder blades as I awaited DeWitt’s response.

  DeWitt continued through the threshold into the cafeteria. “We’ll look into it,” he said.

  “We also need a radio,” I said. “Ours was damaged, and part of our group is supposed to make contact sometime around sunset.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “The last we heard, some of our people might be missing.” For some reason, I stopped myself before telling him Tucker’s team had found the first resistance post abandoned.

  DeWitt nodded. “Eat,” he said. “Everything else can wait.” With that, he departed, leaving Chase and I exchanging skeptical looks.

  * * *

  A HALF hour later we were in the cafeteria, crowded around a long table fixed with green circular stools attached to its base, like we’d had in my middle school. As it was, most of the men either sat on the table itself or faced away so they could stretch out their long legs. Rebecca and I crammed next to each other, and for an instant my heart felt like it was being twisted, because I remembered how Beth and I used to swap our lunches in a place like this.

  Behind the cafeteria was a playground, and through the open door a few children played on the old rusted equipment. Beyond them, six mismatched ovens were visible—they’d been gutted, their insides filled with fires. A dozen people bustled around these stoves while two others managed a central fire pit. I didn’t know what they were cooking, but it smelled so delicious my stomach growled.

  Across the table, a few seats down, Chase was talking to Jesse. Though Jesse’s hair was long, and his scruffy beard fuller, the similarities between them were eerie. The way they sat, facing out with their elbows on their knees, and how their eyes moved over everything, always vigilant, even if you could never see it in their expressions. Jesse leaned back and scratched a hand over his skull, something I’d seen Chase do a hundred times.

  “He’s taller than I thought,” said Rebecca.

  My attention snapped back into focus. “Who?”

  She snorted. “Chase, of course.”

  I nodded. He was tall. Taller than most men by several inches, with the exception of Jesse, though thinner than before. Now that I thought of it, I’d always seen him split everything evenly, even though he should have needed more.

  “Sean told me how he came for you at the reformatory,” she said. “And how he turned himself in to the FBR to find you when you got caught.”

  “Sean’s not so different,” I said.

  “No,” she acknowledged. “He’s not.”

  “How could you leave him?” I asked, suddenly angry. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. I saw you on that bridge. You knew he wouldn’t be able to follow you.”

  I tried to turn away from her, but my legs were trapped between the table’s bars.

  “I knew,” she said. “I knew after the first step he couldn’t follow.”

  “Then why?” I demanded. “You could have been hurt!”

  “I already am hurt.”

  She leaned against me, head on my shoulder, and tentatively, I rested mine atop hers. Her hair was matted with sweat and smelled a little, but she was alive and I was grateful for that.

  “You’re going to get better.”

  “You sound so sure,” she said with a sad smile.

  I opened my mouth to object, but she continued. “Do you know how hard it is to look at someone and know they blame themselves for what happened to you?”

  She looked up then, meeting my eyes, and I did. I knew exactly, because it was my fault she was hurt, my fault she was out here. I turned my head and my gaze came to rest on Chase’s back, bowed down by the weight of the burdens he carried.

  “I don’t want you to go,” I said.

  She squeezed my arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  * * *

  WE ate a meal like I’d never eaten before—not even when I was home, and my mother had a job before the War had started. A man named Panda with buzzed hair and a list of names tattooed on his forearms served us goat meat and sweet potatoes and leafy green kale and carrots. There were chunks of nutty, coarse bread we dipped in honey, and oranges from the orchard and as much fresh water as we could drink.

  I ate myself sick; I wasted nothing. And when my plate was clean a lanky boy with skin so tan it was nearly the color of red clay asked me if I wanted more and I said yes because the memory of hunger was just as sharp as the real thing.

  When I was able to lift my eyes off my plate I spotted Jesse across the table. He’d barely touched his food. The boy with the tan skin made his way toward him, and as I watched he tripped, then caught himself. He hadn’t spilled anything, but he turned around just the same and sped back to the kitchen, embarrassed.

  I tracked him, wishing DeWitt would resurface from wherever he’d hidden. Now that I’d eaten, I wanted to know how he’d recognized Chase, and what he’d meant when he said we needed protection more than ever.

  I rose when Chase appeared behind me.

  “Sean’s convinced they’re poisoning us to use our bodies as hog’s feed,” he said. “But that didn’t stop him from licking his plate clean.” He rubbed a hand absently down his throat.

  “I thought Three was supposed to be, I don’t know, scary,” I whispered. “They look like farmers, not fighters.”

  “Who said we can’t be both?”

  The voice behind me made me jump. Even Chase looked surprised; the noise from the kitchen had distracted him. Behind me, Dr. DeWitt smiled, his blue eyes bright with amusement.

  “So you are Three,” Chase said.

  A little girl that had joined us from Jesse’s group tugged on DeWitt’s tunic. One of the women who’d been tending to her stood back a few steps, and encouraged her to ask him a question.

  “Can I go play?” she asked without looking up.

  For a moment he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he squatted before her and brushed the hair from her face.

  “I hear your name’s Justine, is that right?”

  I took a good look at her now, brunette, with pretty round eyes. I realized I hadn’t taken the time to learn the children’s names. Or any of the survivors’ names, for that matter. Better not to get too close. But maybe here things could be different.

  The girl nodded, wiping the crumbs off her dirty sweater.

  “Pretty name,” said DeWitt. “I’ll tell you what. You’ve got ten minutes to have as much fun as you can. Then you have to wash up and go to bed.”

  “But…”

  “Nine minutes and fifty seconds,” he said. She pouted for another two seconds, then raced out the door, two other children on her heels.

  “Will can show you to your sleeping quarters,” DeWitt told the group, motioning to the boy who’d tripped while serving dinner. “The council has decided a formal introduction to the camp can wait until tomorrow.”

  The thought of being paraded around made me nervous. We didn’t even know how many people lived in Endurance.

  “Did you talk to them about our people?” Chase asked. Across the table, Jesse flicked back his greasy hair.

  “One step at a time,” said DeWitt.

  “With res
pect, sir, they may not have much time left. We haven’t been able to make radio contact in days,” Chase pressed. For the first time in a while, Jack agreed with him.

  “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.” The finality in DeWitt’s tone was clear.

  As the others rose and followed Will, I helped Rebecca to stand.

  “Actually, I’d like to discuss it now,” said Chase. I braced against the frustration in his tone, aware of those around us who’d stopped to watch. We were hardly in the position to make demands. “And I want to know how you know about me, too,” Chase finished.

  Rebecca squeezed my elbow.

  DeWitt chuckled dryly. “Why don’t we take a walk? The three of us.” He tilted his head in my direction.

  “Where are you taking them?” Rebecca asked warily.

  “Just for a walk,” assured DeWitt. “They’ll rejoin your people soon.”

  He turned without another word and headed to the long corridor that ran the length of the school.

  Just a walk. I could manage that. Maybe he’d found a radio for us, although I wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t just come out and say so. From what we’d seen, neither DeWitt nor his people posed a threat to us, and this might be the perfect opportunity to figure out what exactly was going on.

  A quick squeeze of Rebecca’s hand, and Chase and I followed. Sean was scowling, watching the events unfold from his place on the opposite side of the table.

  We came to the main hallway, lit by torches mounted to the walls at intervals, but instead of turning left toward the front of the building, DeWitt made a right. In silence, I followed him over the yellowed, peeling linoleum, waiting with growing anticipation for him to explain why he’d asked me to come along. The windows here had been blocked by planks of wood, but through the cracks I could see that dusk had come.

  The hall curved slightly and we came upon two armed guards dressed in beige tunics like DeWitt, with loose pants. They gave him a formal nod, then stepped aside.

  The north wing, I realized. Entry was forbidden without council approval, but I wasn’t convinced it was just because the weapons were stored here, as DeWitt had claimed. The armed surveillance seemed a little excessive. I passed the guards, trying to ignore the familiar dread I felt around MM soldiers. These were the good guys, even if they did look similar.

  “I’ll ask you to keep what you see here confidential,” said DeWitt, standing before an old classroom, also guarded by a man with a rifle.

  We nodded.

  He pushed through the door, and my mouth fell agape at the walls of radio equipment—it was tenfold what we’d had in Knoxville. Machines beeped and thrummed, attached by wires to what looked like car batteries, all bound together in the center of the room. Two women and three men wearing headphones sat in front of various machines, reading monitors and adjusting dials.

  “What is…”

  “Perfect timing.” I was interrupted by one of the men, in his early thirties with a sharp nose and deeply set eyes. He ripped back his headphones. “I got him, sir. He’s on another frequency this time. That makes four channels and counting.”

  DeWitt strode over to him quickly and pressed a button on the switchboard.

  Static, and then Tucker’s voice, muffled, despite their superior radio equipment.

  “Mayday. Mayday. If you can hear this, clear the area. Roanoke, Virginia, is under FBR control. Do not attempt to evacuate to the safe house. It’s gone. I repeat, the safe house is gone.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  I FELT the blood drain from my face. Beside me, Chase had grown still.

  “The family in Knoxville, Chicago, and Virginia are gone,” Tucker continued, and I twitched as he referenced the resistance under the One Whole Family banner used in MM propaganda. Even though the signal was weak his tension was obvious. “My team was hit this morning in Roanoke. We lost four. Half are injured, six are missing.”

  Static.

  “You know this person,” said DeWitt.

  I nodded, frantically trying to process what Tucker had said. Who had been killed in the fight? The carriers? Truck from Chicago?

  “Our radio was damaged,” Chase said. “We’ve been in contact with them until today.”

  “Well he’s telling everyone what happened,” a tech said. “With the tower we have access to most underground frequencies, and he’s working his way up the ladder.”

  I recalled the crooked pole emerging from behind the north wing.

  “The MM can’t hear him, can they?” I asked.

  “No,” said DeWitt. “He’s still using an old frequency. One the Bureau doesn’t monitor anymore.”

  “If you’re still out there, we could really use some good news.”

  Now I had the distinct impression Tucker was talking just to me. The seconds ticked by. If Chase or I didn’t respond soon, he was going to end the transmission.

  “His name is Tucker Morris,” I said. “He’s looking for us.”

  DeWitt scowled at the receiver. Across the room, a woman with unruly auburn curls pushed a red pin into a map of the states. I tracked her hand to a location in western Virginia, and found another in Knoxville, and still another on the coast, in South Carolina. All places the MM had destroyed. Three more pins were scattered across the Midwest.

  The static crackled over my nerves.

  “We need to answer him.” I said, hoping this was clearer.

  DeWitt appraised me with caution, then tilted his head in consent. The tech who’d found the signal stood and directed me into his chair, then moved a small black microphone close to my mouth. Chase bent over my shoulder.

  “Ready?” asked the tech.

  When I nodded he flipped another switch. A small red light on the board turned to green.

  Apprehension seized me. Answering a call on a CB radio in the wilderness surrounded by people I knew was a lot different than receiving a transmission in Three’s operating room. Everyone was looking at me, and I was suddenly scared of saying the wrong thing.

  “I can hear you,” I said. “I’m here.”

  Static. And then, “About time.”

  A grin came, unbidden and unwelcome. This was Tucker I was talking to, not a friend.

  “What happened? You said you’d be there.”

  “Our radio was damaged.”

  Pause. “Are you okay?”

  I wasn’t particularly comfortable with how worried he sounded. Chase huffed behind me, unwilling to believe the sentiment was genuine.

  “You said you were hit. How are the drivers?”

  Dread filled the moments that followed. Only the carriers knew where the other resistance pockets were—taking the posts’ reports had been their job with Three. If they were gone, the other bases wouldn’t receive warning about the safe house’s destruction, and communication between those fighting the MM would effectively stop.

  “The one with the bad teeth is MIA. He never came back. I think … I think they might have him.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “The driver from Knoxville—he didn’t make it. I told you Grandma’s house was empty? He’d heard a tip of another place she’d relocated to so we went to check it out. It was like they knew we were coming. Me and a few other guys barely got out.”

  The carrier, Tubman, came to mind, with his ragged scar and kind smile, opening the garage door to the auto shop in Knoxville where he hid refugees in need of a safe house.

  I fumbled for words. Tucker’s raw confession had made me want to raise a shield between us. He must have sensed this, too, because before I could answer, he said, “How about you? Please tell me you found something. We could really use some good news.”

  DeWitt moved beside me, watching me closely.

  “We did,” I said. “Though not as many as we hoped for.” I couldn’t find it in my heart to have him relay the news to his team that so many had perished in the safe house. Not after all they’d been through.

  Static. A short laugh. “I can’t believe I
’m saying this, but it’s good to hear your voice.”

  Beside me, Chase stiffened.

  As much as I hated to admit it, it was good to hear from Tucker, too. As crazy as it was, I was relieved he was alive. Still, his report was bleak. They’d been attacked. The resistance posts were being destroyed.

  I looked to DeWitt, then to their map on the wall with the red pins. We needed to do something.

  “Where are you?” Tucker asked.

  Before I could answer, DeWitt flipped the switch. The green light turned red.

  “Wait!” I tapped the microphone, then reached for his hand, still covering the switch. “Wait, we weren’t done!”

  “He’ll attempt contact again tomorrow,” said DeWitt. “After he reaches the next post.”

  I stood up, furious, the chair tipping behind me. “They might not make it until tomorrow! You heard him, they’re in trouble. The post—”

  “We’re well aware of the issue,” he said.

  My fists tightened at my sides. “Then you’ll send people to help them? Warn the other posts? You’ll do something.”

  DeWitt’s lips formed a thin line. “Do not forget that you’re a guest in our home, Ms. Miller.”

  “The carrier he was talking about—if they captured him like Tucker thinks, he’s as good as dead.”

  DeWitt made no response. The eyes of the others in the room bore holes straight through me. I became instantly aware that Chase and I were outnumbered.

  “How?” I asked, trying to keep myself calm. “How do you know they’ll go to the next post?”

  “He’ll follow the carrier’s directives. That’s protocol in the case something like this happens. Unless, of course, you have reason to believe he would do something different?”

  I shook my head, aware he was implying Tucker would run, or worse, go back to the MM. Just a week ago I might have considered it, but now, after hearing the distress in his voice, it didn’t seem possible.

  “You were prepared for this?” I asked.

  DeWitt inhaled. “We are prepared for many things.”

  “Ember.” Chase was facing the opposite side of the room where a dozen pictures had been tacked to the wall.

  I joined him, keeping my eye on DeWitt until the last possible moment. When I finally saw what Chase was staring at my hand rose to my mouth. I bit my knuckles to hold back the groan.