“He’s all right.”
I nodded, wondering how far I should push him. “Ever hear anything interesting? I know you help him with a lot of stuff.”
He shrugged again. I wondered if I had shrugged so much when I was a teenager. “It’s mostly just PMC movements. We track them and try to listen in on their frequency, but a lot of their intel is in code. Sometimes I work on breaking it.”
“You break their codes?”
“I’ve broken some of them. My dad had this old book on cryptography. I read it over and over again when I was a kid.”
“That’s cool.”
“It’s not that hard.”
We sat in silence for several minutes, but it didn’t feel awkward. I liked Kinsley, and I wished he wasn’t Rulon’s errand boy. He was a good kid, and I had the bad feeling that Rulon was leading the rebels into disaster. He wouldn’t even listen to Ida, which made me think he was scared — scared of the PMC’s power and scared of what we didn’t know.
The next day, Logan was still confined to her bed on Shriver’s orders, but she was sitting up and talking animatedly to Greyson. By the look of the warmth returning to her cheeks, we would be able to travel soon.
I had Shriver reset my ankle. It was healing, but I needed to be able to walk on it properly — run if I had to. She tsked when she saw how much it had swollen after the carrier fight, but she put it in a brace anyway. It fit into my boot and eased the pain I felt when it bore weight.
I wasn’t the only one who was anxious to leave. When Greyson wasn’t at Logan’s bedside, I caught him throwing wary glances at all the rebels milling around. I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: In a few days’ time, the camp would have some hard decisions to make.
Amory shuffled on and off guard duty, sleeping intermittently in his tent for a few hours at a time. With so few uninjured men left, he was pulling double duty and helping Shriver between shifts.
That lack of sleep combined with his withdrawal symptoms and the fact that he, Greyson, and Kinsley shared a tent with Jared had put him on edge. According to Greyson, the mood in the tent had not improved since Amory started the fight with Jared. Now, whenever the four of them were in there at the same time, there was just a strained, awkward silence.
Kinsley was the only one who seemed to be taking the carrier attack and imminent PMC invasion in stride. He had more responsibilities than ever, especially as Rulon’s lackey, and he seemed to mature overnight into a much older boy. He relieved the older men of guard duties without being asked, brought food to some of the other rebels who were grieving in their tents, and took it upon himself to restore the awkward harmony that had existed between our group and Jared.
One night, after Logan had begun to regain her health, there was an odd rustle at the flap of the med tent. Most of the rebels who remained under Shriver’s care bore more serious injuries, so they had been moved to the auxiliary tent to be cared for en masse. The four of us nearly had Logan’s tent to ourselves, and we all looked up in surprise when Jared stuck his head in the tent.
It was strange seeing him without his PMC whites on. He was wearing black cargo pants and boots like everyone else and a half-zip black sweater. His messy blond hair stood out starkly against all the black.
Jared cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Hi. Good to see you’re looking better,” he said with a nod in Logan’s direction.
Logan’s mouth twitched, and I could tell she was suppressing a laugh. “Thanks. I’m almost . . . good as new.”
“Right. Well, that’s good.” Jared’s eyes wandered around to us. He gave a general nod of acknowledgment and then ducked out without another word.
“He’s got some nerve,” said Amory under his breath.
“I think it’s nice,” said Logan.
“Why?” snapped Greyson.
I looked over in surprise. Greyson had never expressed dislike for Jared since he had extracted Amory and me from Sector X. He was sitting on the floor against Logan’s cot — her own personal watchdog.
“I mean —” he stammered. “After fighting with Amory and all . . .”
“Amory started it,” I pointed out.
“You wouldn’t say that if you heard what he said about you,” Greyson muttered.
I let the topic drop. I didn’t want to know what Jared had said about me because it was awkward enough being around him and knowing he’d said anything at all. Plus, seeing Amory bristle at the very sight of him made me even more anxious to leave camp.
Four nights after the attack, Ida found me at dinner. I could tell it was her approaching by the way her skirts swished through the snow. She sighed and sat down on the log next to me, holding two cups of hot tea. It was a motherly gesture, but I knew something serious was on her mind.
“It’s time for us to leave,” she said. By her tone, I could tell the decision weighed on her heavily.
For the first time since I’d known Ida, she was really showing her age. She had deep crevices around her mouth that ran together and split off to form shallower tributaries. The eyes behind those huge glasses were deep set and tired. Her long hair now looked less platinum blond and more white and raggedy — like Father Time’s beard.
“I know.”
“You don’t seem very upset.”
I smiled bitterly. “I shouldn’t even be here now. Rulon hates me. He thinks I’m a traitor.”
“If he really thought you were a traitor, you’d be dead. You just make him nervous.”
“So do you.”
“No. He thinks I’m a crazy old woman who spent too many years ‘cowering on my farm.’ And maybe I am, but I’ve moved on. You don’t get to be my age without a little self-preservational instinct.”
“He still won’t listen to you?”
She shook her head. “He’s leading these people without any real strategy or direction. When he was with Mariah, he was too reckless. She pushed him — goaded him — into doing things against his better judgment.”
“Like bombing the base.”
Ida nodded gravely. “If I had known what they were up to, I never would have sent you with them.” She hung her head, and I knew she was thinking of Max. “Now with Mariah gone, he’s paralyzed. He doesn’t know what to do. He was never cut out to lead all these people. She was. Rulon just brought the charisma . . . the people skills. Mariah was the one with a brain for strategy.”
“She manipulated him.”
“Of course she manipulated him. Behind every great leader is the real brains of the operation, Haven. Remember that.”
We sat in silence for several minutes, blowing on the hot tea.
“When did it get like this, Haven? It’s something I never thought I would do.” She continued, not expecting me to chime in. “Turning my back on people who need my help. But I’m not wanted here. And frankly, I won’t let my people risk their lives under Rulon’s leadership any longer.”
“How did you end up with the rebels?”
She sighed, looking tired. “What else am I supposed to do? The PMC confiscated my farm. They took my deed and handed me my migration papers. That farm has been in my family for over a hundred years, and they took it in a second. It was only a matter of time, I suppose. We’re a dying breed, we ‘independent resistors.’ Most of my old friends have gone deep underground. My husband died years ago, and we never had any children. I don’t have any other family.”
“You never thought about going west?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have any interest in fleeing. Not when the country is falling apart. Joining the resistance . . . at least I can be of use.”
I felt a twinge of guilt. I didn’t have Ida’s heroism. Greyson and I had planned on going west, but that dream seemed so distant now. “Is your camp like Rulon’s?” I asked.
“Not quite, no. You’ll get to see it for yourself. It’s a camp run by one of my oldest friends. He doesn’t inspire loyalty by using intimidation and torture. We do our bit . . . collecting intel tha
t will help us weaken the PMC.” Ida was staring off into the fire. “There’s a war coming, Haven. All it takes is for people to realize what’s happened. It’s right there in front of them, but nobody wants to believe it. When they see the PMC for what it really is, the American people will be at war with World Corp International.”
“How are you the only person who’s figured this out?”
Halfway into a sip of tea, Ida wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure I’m not. But most people don’t believe one corporation could ever be strong enough to hold us hostage like this. And the PMC was contracted out by the federal government. The people think their elected leaders orchestrated this, which in their view means it must be the best thing for us.”
“But the government is in hiding.”
“No one really wants to believe that.”
Something Ida said earlier surfaced in my mind. “Have you been up north?”
“No. But I don’t imagine it’s going so well. If we don’t go to war against World Corp, we’ll be at war with the Canadians.”
I sat back, letting her statement sink in. Somehow, it was hard to imagine a war so close to home.
“When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. Before first light. I think Logan is strong enough to travel. We need to be gone before any of the people here start showing symptoms. There’s going to be a panic, and I don’t want to be caught in the middle of it.”
I nodded. “We’ll be ready.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It wasn’t difficult to pack up the few belongings I had accrued since leaving Columbia. A few knives, extra socks, the FN SCAR Logan had stolen for me, and a copy of Animal Farm from Shriver were scattered around our tent. The rest of my belongings were already packed away. I felt a pang of sadness that I didn’t even have a photo of my parents like Greyson’s to remember them by. It was as though the PMC had erased my family entirely.
Logan breezed through the back tent flap holding a bundle of clothes and a smug grin.
“It pays to flirt with the supply tent guys,” she said, tossing a pile of clothes on top of my sleeping bag.
Apart from being a little thinner and slightly pale from her ordeal, Logan seemed to be herself again, which had its advantages.
Examining her haul, I was glad to see she had found a heavy winter jacket for each of us, several pairs of heavy wool socks, and what looked like ski pants. These were hot commodities we couldn’t even get when we were on relatively good terms with the rebels. And now that we were defying Rulon and leaving their ranks, there was no way they would let us take anything like this.
“I can’t believe you raided the supply tent without stealing any extra ammunition,” I chided. “It’s not like you.”
Logan looked at me as if I were crazy. Pulling aside her sleeping bag, she tugged at the zipper of the thin pallet underneath. She yanked out a long, flattened bag, and the foot of the pallet deflated considerably.
“Please. You know me better than that. I swiped these the day we got back from Sector X. And I swapped out Greyson’s HK416 for another SCAR. I doubt he even noticed.”
“You’re a genius,” I said. “We should get some stuff for them to wear.”
She scoffed. “My flirting is much less effective when I say I’m taking clothes for my two male travel companions.”
I raised an eyebrow. “They’re going to need them.”
While Logan returned to the front entrance of the supply tent, I peeked through the crack in the canvas from the back. Her high-pitched giggle was the signal — a sound I never heard her make in regular conversation. I ducked in silently and crept to the men’s clothing side.
There were bins and bins of shirts, pants, socks, coats, boots, and long underwear. The pants were loosely organized by size, but I realized I had no idea what size either of them wore. I grabbed several different pairs, hoping whatever didn’t fit one might fit the other, two winter jackets, and as many pairs of heavy socks as I could carry.
Logan was saying something about hockey players versus wrestlers on a scale of relative hotness, and I rolled my eyes in her direction to signal that I had found what we needed. She giggled, and I made my exit. We met back at our tent, Logan looking disgusted with herself.
“It’s really not even fair,” she said. “They’re like middle-school boys. Too few women rebelling, if you ask me.”
I snorted. “You should start a movement. Equality — more women for the male rebels to flirt with.”
Stomping through the snow to the back entrance of the boys’ tent, we heard two people arguing: Jared and Amory.
Logan poked her head in through the tent flap. “Hey, shut the fuck up. We can hear you guys all down the block.”
She squeezed inside, and I followed reluctantly, elbowing around Amory and standing at his side. Jared was seething by the front entrance, his shoulders raised in a defensive posture, and Greyson was sitting on his sleeping bag, looking frustrated.
“What’s going on?” Logan asked in a falsely cheery voice.
“Just found out you and your friends are traitors,” said Jared. Your old friend Ida is causing a huge riff.”
“Ida came to Rulon first,” I said.
“Sure she did,” Jared muttered.
“She did. I heard her. But Rulon’s stubborn. He won’t listen!”
Jared cracked a snide grin. “Yeah, I heard about her crazy World Corp International theory.”
“No, we need to move because this camp is going to collapse when the virus sets in,” said Amory. The PMC is closing in. We can’t just stay here and wait for them to find us when we’re most vulnerable.”
Jared shook his head, eyes still burning with fury. “Isn’t that nice?” He pointed from me to Amory to Logan. “You . . . and you . . . and you have all been vaccinated. A handful of the few people guaranteed not to become infected are leaving.”
“Everyone has the option of coming with us,” I said. “Right now, everyone else has the same chance of becoming infected.”
“And what do you plan to do once they start showing symptoms?” he shouted. “Throw them out in the cold?”
Being reminded of Mariah felt like a slap. Even though I had not been the one to throw her out of the bunker to die, revealing her secret to the rebels had doomed her instantly.
“What I did wasn’t right,” I said. “But I would do it all over again. She threatened my friends.”
“Can you blame her? She was just doing what any of us would have done. She was protecting the cause.” He laughed coldly, looking up over our heads. “That’s the problem with you people. All you care about is each other!”
“They’re all I have left.”
“She was all I had left!” Jared yelled. “She was my sister!”
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t know what to say.
Staring at my shoes, his last word hung on the air between us in the crowded tent. I opened my mouth to say something — anything — but he backed out into the snow with a huff.
Logan let out an audible sigh and found my hand. She squeezed it once, and I felt the warmth travel up my arm in a comforting way. “Everyone is someone’s sister,” she whispered, “or brother or friend. But that doesn’t mean we do anything differently.”
Hearing Logan of all people say that broke my heart. How could she still have so much resolve after losing Max? After everything that had happened, I felt as if I were losing mine.
I knew she was right. I couldn’t think about who might be affected every time I killed a carrier or shot at a PMC officer. As terrible as it was, given the choice between saving an unknown person’s loved one and saving one of mine, I’d choose Amory, Logan, and Greyson every time.
“I should apologize,” I said.
“Who’s that going to help? You or him?”
I gave her a funny look.
Logan sighed. “Sometimes it’s easier if you have someone to hate.”
We gave the boys the supplies we had stolen and
returned to our tent to catch a few hours of sleep. We changed into our warmest clothes, and I decided to sleep in my gear. The coat was a little baggy, but it was warm and had lots of pockets for knives and extra ammunition. It felt as though I had barely closed my eyes when Logan was shaking my shoulder to wake me again.
It was still pitch black as we rolled up our sleeping bags and traipsed out into the snow toward the meeting place at the top of the hill.
The bonfire in the center of camp was burning low, and no one was out talking late tonight. After the carrier attack, a chilling fear had settled over the camp. I imagined no one wanted to be out alone.
The only other light came through the cracks of the medical tent. On impulse, I crossed over and stuck my head inside. Most of the beds were still occupied, and Shriver was sitting on a stool, cleaning her instruments.
“How are you feeling?” she asked without looking up.
“Great.”
An awkward silence hung in the air, and I didn’t know what to say.
“Are you leaving now?” she asked.
Her question took me by surprise. I nodded.
“Safe travels, then.” She reached over and tossed me a lightweight canvas bag. “Make sure your friends change their bandages regularly. Infection kills.”
I smiled. “Come with us.”
She looked up at me through those enormous glasses. “My place is here. There are going to be a lot of sick people very soon.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll catch the virus?”
“I’ve been vaccinated,” she sighed. “Wish I could say the same for this lot.”
My insides squirmed uncomfortably. I realized I knew very little about the woman who had taken care of me and my friends without asking anything in return. I didn’t even know she had been documented, and now seemed like a strange time to ask about her story. I nodded. “Well, thanks . . . for everything.”
“Just doing my job.”
I took one last look around the crowded tent where she worked in silence caring for sick people, glanced at that picture of the man with the Dalmatian, and ducked back out of the tent.
Enemy Inside (Defectors Trilogy) Page 16