“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Like a carrier took a bite out of me.”
I finally voiced a thought that had been plaguing me since the attack. “There’s something different about these carriers, don’t you think?”
Greyson sat up slowly. “What do you mean?”
“They’re stronger — faster. They even seem smarter. Do you remember the ones from Saint Drogo’s in the riots?” I asked.
Greyson set down the package of cookies and reached for a bowl of stew. “I mean, yeah, but most of those were stage four, and they were locked up for such a long time.”
“Maybe. But the carrier who almost killed me . . . he still had that human look in his eyes. It was like he knew what he was doing. And the other ones I fought . . . they were way too strong.”
Logan chewed on a hard piece of bread crust thoughtfully. “Maybe the virus is mutating. That happens.”
“If it is, then we have a much bigger problem. How do we know the vaccine will work if it’s mutated?”
“We don’t know if it works at all,” Greyson snapped. “The PMC has fed us so many lies.”
“But I’ve never gotten the virus, and I’ve come in contact with plenty of carriers.”
He shrugged, and I felt a cold vise clamp around my chest. We had to get Greyson out of here before he contracted the virus — if he hadn’t already.
The tent flap opened, letting in a gust of cold wind and a flurry of snow. Amory stepped inside, looking weary. He sank down on the edge of my bed, and I handed my bowl with the last bit of stew to him.
“Well, hello to you, too,” said Logan.
Amory jumped, nearly spilling the stew all over his pants. A grin broke across his face. “Good to see you’re alive.”
Examining Amory’s bruised and bloodied face, I noticed several wounds that weren’t there before.
“Did you get in a fistfight with the PMC?”
He looked sheepish. “No.”
“These weren’t there before,” I said, tracing the most pronounced bruise.
He shrugged, avoiding eye contact.
“This sucks,” he said, ladling out a lump of pinkish chicken from the bowl.
“Don’t change the subject.”
He sighed, eyes darting guiltily to the side. “I may have gotten into it with Jared.”
“Seriously?”
“That’s not like you,” said Logan.
I threw her a dirty look. Chastising Amory for aggression that he couldn’t control wasn’t what he needed right now.
“How come?”
He shrugged, and I thought maybe it was best to let it drop. “What’s going on out there?” I asked.
“Regrouping, I think. Trying to see how many able-bodied people we have left who can fight off the PMC.”
We fell silent, listening to the wind howling outside. At least the PMC would be unlikely to launch an attack in this weather. Its officers weren’t accustomed to fighting the elements the way the rebels were.
Suddenly, nearby voices cut through the wind. I recognized one as Ida’s immediately. We all fell silent, listening intently.
“Be reasonable. You have much bigger problems to worry about. None of these people have been vaccinated. An outbreak at a time like this would cripple —”
“My camp is not your concern.”
The second voice belonged to Rulon.
“I’m just saying it would be best to be on the move as soon as possible. It’s not the PMC or the afflicted you need to worry about.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the PMC is taking its orders from someone you might not have thought of.”
“Who then?”
“Aryus Edric.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The four of us sat there, listening intently to Ida and Rulon arguing.
“That’s ridiculous,” Rulon scoffed. “Why would Aryus —”
“Why?” asked Ida. “He’s the one who stands to benefit from all of this.”
“The Private Military Company is its own entity gone rogue.”
“Who’s giving the orders, then? I know you blew up every general they had in the riots.”
“So they’ve appointed a new general.”
“The riots didn’t even faze the PMC. Why do you think that is? It’s just the military branch of a much larger entity.”
“World Corp International owns the PMC?” Rulon let out a harsh, guttural laugh.
“Is that so hard to believe? They distribute the food, they made the largest campaign donations for years before the Collapse, and their scientist developed the vaccine. Every breakthrough agricultural, pharmaceutical, and tech product in the last decade has come from World Corp International.”
“What would World Corp stand to gain? The country is overrun. Everyone has migrated north.”
“Well, for one thing, people paid for the vaccine. And now they’re building a new life in the north. I can think of a few ways World Corp could profit from that. Have any of us actually seen what it’s like up there?”
Rulon was silent for several seconds. Finally he spoke again, but with much less resolve. “That doesn’t change our strategy. If we continue to push back against the PMC, we will begin to make a dent. Another riot like the ones in Sector X would devastate their ranks. I won’t discuss this again.”
“Then let’s discuss relocation. This place is contaminated. Almost all the survivors are unvaccinated. There’s going to be an outbreak, and when it happens, we’ll all be sitting ducks for the PMC. How long do you think it will take them to find this camp? A day? A week?”
“You’ve got some nerve,” snarled Rulon. “You barge into my camp and start delivering orders when you’ve been cowering on your farm for the last year.”
I tensed, anger flaring inside me.
“I’m not giving orders,” said Ida. “I’m just sharing what I know . . . and sharing my concern. Your ranks took a hard hit today, and I’m willing to join forces. But I will not put my people in danger by sitting around waiting to be found or for those dead people to befoul the water supply when the snow melts.”
“Leave, then,” Rulon said in a deadly whisper. “Take a few days to regroup. Then get out of my camp.”
Rulon’s footsteps faded away, and I glanced across the tent to Logan and Greyson, who looked serious.
“Ida’s right,” I whispered. “We need to leave.”
Amory nodded. “Rulon’s stubborn. He would get us all killed before agreeing to retreat.”
“When do we leave?”
“As soon as Logan is well enough to move, I say.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” Logan whispered. “Do you think World Corp International is really behind all this?”
“I don’t know. How much do they control?”
“Everything,” said Greyson. “I went to a bunch of protests against them before the Collapse. They’ve been involved in every major corporate disaster of the last few years. They built those oil pipelines that exploded. They had to recall Deleseltric because it caused cancer. They manufacture almost every tech product you can buy. They’re the largest food distributor in the country. They’ve been linked to everything from E. coli outbreaks to mad cow disease to predatory crops.”
We all fell silent as the weight of the information sank in. It wasn’t clear to me why they would own the PMC — I just knew it seemed very likely, given everything else they controlled.
Amory and Greyson went off to wash away the blood and grime from battle, and Logan and I were left alone in the medical tent, listening to the sounds of ragged breathing coming from the beds nearest us.
“What about all of them?” I whispered. “They might all die.”
Logan shrugged. “Some of them would rather die than leave Rulon. I haven’t seen anything like it since the PMC. He’s got these people completely brainwashed.”
“Where will we go?”
“Anywhere. As far away from Se
ctor X as we can get.”
“I always thought it was smart . . . hiding under the PMC’s nose, stealing food from Sector X. But now it seems like a terrible place to be.”
Logan sighed. “They’re still dependent on the system that failed them in the first place. It’s putting food in our mouths every day.”
“What do you think they do with prisoners now? Chaddock, Waul, Saint Drogo’s . . . they were all destroyed in the riots.”
“I think they kill anyone who disagrees with them. Who’s to stop them? Not the U.S. government.”
It was an uneasy thought. Whoever was giving the PMC its orders, that entity was now completely in control. There was no question of that anymore.
Soon, the sound of Logan’s breathing became slow and even, and I knew she had fallen asleep. I felt a pang of worry. Her injuries had taken a toll. How long would it take her to recover from such a massive blood loss? How long before we could be on the move?
The tent flap opened, and Ida blew in with a gust of wind.
“How is she doing?” she whispered.
“We’re coming with you,” I said. “Please, let us come with you.”
Ida nodded. “As soon as she’s well. And the sooner the better, really. I have overstayed my welcome here.”
“And the others?”
“Leaving with anyone will devastate Rulon’s ranks, but I think it’s only right to offer everyone a choice. I’m not sure anyone will want to come.” She laid a warm, motherly hand on the top of my foot, which was covered in blankets. “It’s dangerous to let anyone else make your choices for you, Haven. Never forget that. Following blindly leaves you blind.”
She left, and Amory returned carrying a rifle. His hair was damp, and he was pale and shivering, but he looked clean and much less worse for the wear.
“Greyson’s sleeping. I think the fighting wore him out.”
As he set his rifle on the floor and sank down next to me, I felt my heart speed up. “You should go back, too,” I said.
He looked hurt.
“You should rest,” I added. “You’ve had a long day.”
“I can’t rest when they’re out there. I’m not leaving you in here unprotected. Ida was right. How long do you think it will take for them to find this place now that they’ve gotten so close?”
“They won’t try again — not in this storm.”
“Maybe not.”
Lying back against my pillow, he threaded his fingers through mine. His knuckles were bruised with lots of small cuts across the tops, but his warm fingers were gentle. I became very aware of every part of our bodies that were touching, and I tried to slow my breathing.
“Is this okay?” Amory asked. He turned his face to me, and I could see the seriousness coming through his expression of longing. “I’ll go if you want me to. I don’t expect you to trust me after what happened this morning . . . and with Jared. You don’t have to be scared, but you don’t have to trust me, either.”
“I do trust you.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m getting it under control.”
I threw him a dubious look.
He laughed. “No, really. This morning, the rage took over, and I felt . . . blind. When Jared started running his mouth out there, I hit him because I just felt like he deserved it.”
“What was he saying?”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“Tell me.”
“It was stuff about you . . . locker room talk.” He grimaced. “I don’t want to repeat it.”
I smirked. “Were you jealous?”
Amory looked bemused and then flustered. “Of course I was jealous! I don’t want you to be with him. I want you to be with me.”
My heart swelled. I looked up at him. “I am with you.”
Amory grinned and brushed the hair off my face. I looked up at him, trying to memorize the warm, soft look in his eyes. These days, he so seldom let his guard down that this side of Amory was rare to see.
He pulled me closer, and I laid my head against his chest, drifting off into the first peaceful sleep I’d had at camp.
The next morning, when I finally emerged from the tent, the entire camp was blanketed in snow. It covered the patches of blood, and all the dead had been dragged away to the mass grave. I wondered who had been responsible for moving the bodies — carrying them the half mile to the ravine. Probably the few rebels who had been vaccinated. That sent a ripple of guilt down my spine.
Those who had survived and were not confined to the medical tent milled around in silence. Though the snow concealed the evidence of death, it hung very present over by the mess tent. A couple people were crying silently around the blazing fire, huddled together on a log. I realized I didn’t even know who had died in the battle or at the hands of the carriers.
But all these people weren’t only grieving for their friends who had died. Most of them were facing the strong possibility that they would become infected and die a slow, awful death as a carrier. What was worse, they wouldn’t even know if they were infected for days.
Moving through the mess line in silence, I took my bowl and glanced absently at the rough chalkboard denoting everyone’s duties for the week. I needed a job to do.
I was startled when I realized it was the same schedule as last week; none of the dead rebels’ names had been removed.
Amory took a bowl for Logan, and I sank down on a log near the fire. I looked down at my breakfast, and my stomach turned. It was a bowl of slop: a mixture of runny gravy, potatoes, corn, and specs of sausage. It made sense. In happy times, the food always seemed to reflect the good fortune of the camp. In bad times, the food was terrible.
I looked around for Greyson, but he wasn’t even in the mess line yet. Even though I knew he couldn’t contract the virus from the rebels who were infected, I felt a sense of urgency to get him away from the area. Death hung like a dark cloud over the entire camp, and I was determined to escape with everyone I loved.
Once I finished, I limped back to the med tent to see if Shriver needed help with anything. My body was battered and broken, but I was still more able-bodied than a lot of the rebels.
As I rounded the corner of the tent block, I heard a terrible retching sound. The snow was sullied with the spilled bowl of morning slop, and its contents were running together with another sickly substance.
Amory was bent double around the side of the tent. He jumped when he saw me out of the corner of his eye, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and going red in the face.
“You should see Shriver,” I said, instantly worried. Under ordinary circumstances, the flu wouldn’t have been an issue, but roughing it in the wilderness, a simple illness could get out of hand and take a person’s life.
“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely.
“You’re sick.” My eyes raked his pale complexion and his shaky, clammy hands.
“I’m not. I’m . . . I think I’m going through withdrawal.”
“Withdrawal from what?”
“The drug they had me on in Isador. I don’t know what it was . . . something that messed with my brain . . . made me more receptive to the sessions.” He said the last word quietly, eyes flickering downward, as though the memories still sent a wave of terror through him.
“How long has this been going on?”
He shrugged. “Since we left Sector X.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, with the effects wearing off, I’m feeling more like myself again. The fighting is more or less under control now.”
I raised an eyebrow at his hedged language but didn’t push it. I was happy to be getting closer to the old Amory again, even if the process was making him lose his breakfast.
Once he had recovered, I began fetching food for the injured who were well enough to eat and helped Amory bandage the simpler wounds. Shriver kept me busy running for more bandages, tools, food, and kerosene oil, but the number of in
jured rebels just seemed to be growing.
All the while, I kept one eye on Logan. She still wasn’t well enough to get out of bed, and she slept for most of the day. Greyson hardly left her side, except to bring her food. Hovering over her, it was as if he thought he could personally ensure his blood would help her recover.
By dinnertime, I’d had enough of the stench of alcohol and blood. I limped out to the fire where the rest of the camp was gathered. The mood had not lifted at all. Warming my hands with my bowl of stew, I looked around for somewhere to sit. Amory and Greyson weren’t there, and every other cluster of people sat in a cloud of despair. Death hung all around them, and sitting down would have felt like an intrusion on their very personal grief.
Finally, I saw Kinsley sitting off on a log by himself. Hunched over his stew, he looked very small, and I was reminded once again how young he was.
“Hey,” I said.
His large ears perked up when he saw me. “Hey!”
“Can I sit?”
“Yeah.”
I sat down awkwardly, watching him watch me out of the corner of his eye.
“Is your friend doing okay?”
“Logan? Yeah, I think she’s going to be all right.”
“Good. I like her.” His face flushed a little, and I grinned.
“Yeah, I think it would take more than one carrier to get the best of Logan. She’s pretty tough.”
“And your other friends? They made it back, so that’s good . . .”
I felt a pang of insensitivity. Everyone I loved had survived, but I was in the minority.
“What about you?” I asked quietly. “Did you lose anyone?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really have anyone to lose. I’m just kind of hanging out.”
Hanging out. That was a strange way to describe what we were doing. Then again, all of us were just “hanging out,” hoping we didn’t get killed. Somehow, not having anyone to lose seemed sadder. I tried to change the subject.
“Hey. What do you think of Rulon?” I asked. I tried to sound casual, but the question was loaded. As young as he was, Kinsley worked more closely with Rulon than anyone else.
Enemy Inside (Defectors Trilogy) Page 15