The Defectors (Defectors Trilogy)

by Benner, Tarah

  “Is Ida a rebel?” I asked.

  “Oh, god no,” said Max. “Rebels don’t mess with things like circulating illegal newspapers. Acts of violence against the government are more their style.”

  “And they’re coming here?”

  “Just passing through. Ida doesn’t get involved in whatever they’re planning.”

  The news bulletin ended, and I felt myself relax. Whenever the radio was on, I had this strange worry that I would hear the world was coming to an end. That was the way things were headed.

  As tired as I felt, the news had put me on edge. I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, even though I knew I should. I followed Logan upstairs to her room and flopped down on her unmade bed. I couldn’t see anything in the pitch-blackness, and I sat down on something hard. When Logan lit the lamp, I could see I was crushing a beat-up romance novel.

  For such a beautiful girl, Logan sure was a slob. Clothes were strewn everywhere, and old Diet Coke cans littered her bedside table. Upon closer inspection, I realized she was using them to style her long blond waves — true off-the-grid beauty ingenuity. Logan reached under the bed and pulled out a small cedar box.

  “My very last ones,” she said solemnly, holding the box open for me to see. Inside were half a dozen bottles of nail polish — a rare luxury out on the farm, I imagined. She cracked the window for ventilation, sat up on her desk, and shook one of the bottles of bright red polish with relish.

  “I only do my toes,” she confessed. “My fingernails chip too easily with all the work around the farm, plus the boys would never let me live it down if they knew.”

  I smiled. It was strangely comforting to watch Logan do something as normal as paint her nails — even if it was by the light of a kerosene lamp. I hadn’t had a girlfriend whom I could talk to in a really long time, and I missed it. Thinking I would leave to go east in less than two weeks made me a little sad.

  A gunshot rang out in the distance, and we both jumped.

  Logan froze, dripping a trail of red nail polish all over her big toe.

  “Where are Amory and —” I didn’t get a chance to finish.

  Another shot shattered the cool night air, and I felt the vibration inside my chest.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I jumped up to the window, bracing myself for the sound of another gunshot. Peering through the glass and into the darkness, it was impossible to see anything going on around the field.

  Logan edged around me without saying a word and cranked the window open all the way. She stuck her head out, squinting through the darkness and craning to hear.

  We waited several long minutes, silently debating whether we should go out and look for them. The gunshots had to have come from Roman or Amory, didn’t they? If they hadn’t — if it was PMC fire — we would all be in danger.

  Then we both saw Amory and Roman appear around the bend, and I sighed aloud in relief. I could hear yelling, but they were too far away to discern anything specific.

  “Ooh, we don’t want to get into this,” said Logan. I could hear the relief in her voice mixed with an unmistakable note of curiosity. “If Roman shot a carrier, we won’t hear the end of this tonight.”

  I found I didn’t care if more carriers were spotted near the perimeter. I just felt relieved that Amory and Roman were alive.

  “Hang on. Why are they coming inside?” Logan wondered aloud. “If they think I’m going to take over their shift, they’ve got another thing —”

  She stopped.

  Head hanging out the window, Logan was frowning at whatever she could see happening on the lane down below. It was a funny picture: blond hair blowing gracefully in the breeze, her face screwed up in concentration.

  Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Oh no.” Pulling her head in and slamming the window in one swift motion, Logan was at the top of the steps by the time I’d gotten off the bed.

  Halfway down the stairs, I heard footsteps crunching gravel and Amory’s voice.

  “You’re . . . trying to get us all killed!” Amory stammered in a strained voice. Something was wrong.

  The door swung open and banged against the wall. Roman was half supporting, half dragging Amory, who was hunched over and clutching his side.

  “Hey!” Max yelled. “No weapons in the kitchen while I’m — shit!” He dropped the pan he was holding when he saw Amory.

  “Oh my god.” The color left Logan’s face, and she sank down onto the bottom step.

  Amory was covered in blood, and a large, dark patch was spreading slowly down the side of his shirt. His gun and a long knife clattered down on the kitchen table, and he winced as Roman lowered him into a chair.

  I stood frozen by the banister, wanting to help but not knowing what to do.

  Logan pulled herself up and walked slowly toward the table, hands shaking. “What the hell did you do?”

  Amory shook his head, pushing his knife angrily across the table. “Just — don’t, Logan.”

  “There’s so much blood,” she stammered, looking sick. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  He looked up at her with unfocused eyes: pain mixed with defeat. “Logan, just get out.”

  She made a sound like a sob caught in her throat and then walked swiftly outside.

  Max looked as though he wanted to tell Amory off, but all the blood made him think better of it.

  Amory raised his shirt with shaky hands. The fabric stuck to the wound, and he stopped, teeth gritted. Max watched in horror. Roman’s face had turned to stone.

  I moved toward Amory, watching his eyes carefully for any sign he might lash out. “Let me.”

  He didn’t say anything, so I knelt down and carefully peeled the torn cotton away from the ripped skin, releasing a fresh deluge of blood. Panicking, I grabbed the damp dishtowel from Max’s hand and held it to the wound to apply pressure.

  “Get more towels,” I snapped. “Clean ones.”

  Max nearly tripped over his own feet on his way to the linen closet.

  When he left, Roman stalked out, too — probably to go hunt down the carriers.

  A dark cloud seemed to lift off my chest when Roman left. I looked up at Amory. “How bad does it hurt?”

  He attempted a chuckle, but it was stifled with a small choke of pain. “Worse than my last carrier fight,” he breathed.

  “You fought them before?”

  “Yeah,” he managed with a grimace. “Won that time, too. That’s the worst part. We didn’t even get them.”

  “At least the cut doesn’t look that deep,” I lied. I couldn’t actually tell how deep the cut was because there was so much blood.

  “Oh, yeah. It’s just a scratch.” He broke off, squeezing his eyes shut as I dabbed at the bloody slash.

  I blinked back tears that were threatening to spill over. There was so much blood.

  “Well, suck it up,” I said. My voice was too high. “It’s not that bad.” I opened my eyes — so did he — and we each managed a small smile.

  Holding the towel with one hand, I lifted his shirt enough for him to slip one arm out at a time. The wound didn’t look as bad when it wasn’t covered by his blood-soaked shirt, but I could tell it was serious; there was a jagged cut about two inches long below his ribs.

  “Tell me what to do,” I said.

  “Apply pressure to — stop the bleeding,” he gasped between breaths.

  I wasn’t trying to look at his chest as I pressed the towel against him, but it was hard not to notice how toned he was. They were not the kind of muscles built in a gym, but the lean ones made by fighting and climbing and doing farm work. I chided myself for admiring his physique at a time like this.

  Max returned with fresh towels and Amory’s medical bag. He muttered something about going to find more gauze to bandage the wound and disappeared as quickly as he came.

  The blood began to coagulate, and it seemed to be soaking in the towel at a slower rate. I wet a corner of a fresh towel with antiseptic and gent
ly patted the ripped flesh. Amory’s jaw tightened, and his muscles tensed from the burning sensation.

  “You don’t have to be all macho, you know,” I said. “You did just get stabbed. You can cry if you want to.” I sneaked a peek at his face. “I would.”

  He looked at me hard. “How bad is it?”

  “Not too bad.” My voice was an octave too high to sound convincing. I didn’t know how the knife couldn’t have punctured any vital organs.

  Amory raised his eyebrows. As I suspected, he was unconvinced. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his face looked ashen.

  “Do you feel any sharp pains?” I asked.

  “Besides the sharp pain where the knife went in?”

  “No. I mean . . . inside,” I added quietly. I didn’t really know how to diagnose a punctured organ. My knowledge of first aid was rudimentary at best.

  He shook his head. “It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think I’m dying or anything.”

  “Well, you would know. You’re the doctor.”

  “Med student,” he corrected, sucking in air through his teeth.

  I spread an antiseptic cream with a clean cotton swab, and it turned a dull red with blood.

  Max reappeared with some gauze folded in a large square to soak up the remaining blood.

  “Hold this,” I said to Amory.

  His hand looked shaky when it pressed down on the bandage.

  Kneeling beside him, I put my arm around his lower back and helped him sit up so I could wrap the remaining gauze around his torso to hold it in place. His face drained of any remaining color, and my chest tightened in alarm.

  When I had bandaged the wound the best I could, I helped Amory lie back in the chair and got up to wash my hands.

  “How do you do that?” he asked suddenly. His forehead glistened with beads of sweat, but he seemed to have recovered from changing positions.

  I hesitated. The question had caught me completely by surprise.

  “I mean, Logan couldn’t even look at the blood, and she’s about as tough as anybody I know.”

  “You were hurt,” I responded, dumbfounded.

  He grinned over the pain. “You’re unbelievable.”

  I looked at him sideways, cracking a smile. “I think you’ve lost an awful lot of blood.”

  “I just mean you’re a lot tougher than I gave you credit for.”

  I laughed. “I did almost stab you myself once.”

  Roman reappeared in the doorway. He was looking at me for once, avoiding eye contact with Amory. “We need to scan the perimeter,” he said. “Make sure the carriers are gone.”

  “I’m a little busy,” I said. “Take Max.” I wasn’t going to leave Amory unattended.

  Roman rolled his eyes. “Great. Maybe he can fillet them to death.”

  He moved to leave and then turned back around to look at Amory.

  “Better find yourself someone else to do night watch with. From now on, I’m taking Logan. She doesn’t hesitate when it counts.” His words hung in the air like noxious gas.

  Amory straightened up with a slight grimace. “We should throw you out after that stunt you pulled tonight.”

  “They were trying to ambush us!” Roman glared at him. “At least I’m not a fucking coward.”

  “Oh, that’s rich. Last time I checked, you weren’t the one who got stabbed.”

  “You’re the one putting us all at risk! Every time you don’t shoot a carrier, that’s people’s lives you put in jeopardy.”

  “Just because —” Amory gasped for air, “I’d rather live than go trying to slaughter every carrier that passes through —”

  “Every dead carrier is one less monster to worry about.”

  “Well, next time you decide to go off book, don’t expect me to stick around.”

  Roman threw him one last seething look and turned to go. “Max!” he barked. “Let’s go.”

  Max poked his head around the corner. “You got this under control?” he asked. He gave me a look that suggested going out with Roman to look for carriers was the last thing he wanted to do.

  I nodded.

  With a sigh, he gathered up the weapons from the table and followed Roman outside.

  I looked back at Amory and was alarmed to see that his eyes were closed. He looked feverish, and it seemed as though the shouting match with Roman never happened. He was beyond caring about that.

  I filled a bowl with cool water and knelt down tentatively beside him. Feeling slightly awkward, I dipped a clean towel in the water and gently dabbed at his forehead. To my surprise, he sighed and sank deeper into the chair.

  I wiped the sweat and dirt off his face, and he relaxed visibly beneath my touch. I refreshed the towel and, hesitating for a moment, sponged the cool water over his chest and shoulders to clean away the blood. My faced warmed at the intimacy, but I continued, and it seemed to comfort him.

  After cooling him down, I could see some color return to his face, but I didn’t think he was strong enough to move upstairs to bed. I ran to grab sheets and blankets from the linen closet and made him a bed on the couch. By the time I returned to the kitchen, he was slumped half-asleep in the chair where I left him.

  I threaded my arm behind his shoulders and helped him out of the chair.

  “Where are we going?” he asked through bleary eyes.

  “Couch. Come on.”

  He allowed me to steer him into the living room, where I deposited him on the overstuffed couch covered in blankets. With a wince, he let me ease him back into a reclined position. His bandage stayed white, which meant the bleeding was under control for the time being.

  I covered him up, lit a fire, and went back to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water. But by the time I returned, he was fast asleep. I settled into the chair across from him and trained my eyes on his bandage, watching for any sign of more bleeding.

  I stayed up with Amory later than I needed to, afraid he would soon present symptoms of a more serious injury. Ida was still gone, so there was no way to send for a doctor to examine him. By midnight, I felt my eyes growing heavy.

  “Haven.” His voice was scratchy.

  “What?”

  “Stop.” He cracked a smile. “You can go to sleep, you know. I’m fine.”

  “I just —”

  “You’re worried I’ll die in my sleep, so you’re watching to make sure I don’t stop breathing.”

  “No! I’m not,” I lied. I was scared, but it sounded stupid when he said it aloud.

  He looked at me with a concerned expression, more alert than he had been all evening. His eyes found mine. I felt a pang of guilt in my chest; my anxiousness was making him feel worse.

  “Sorry,” I said, setting down a glass of water for him on the side table. “I’ll just . . . go up to bed — let you sleep.”

  Amory looked conflicted, so I didn’t stand up right away.

  “I didn’t mean you should go,” he said in a rush. He opened his mouth again but hesitated. “Would you mind . . . staying?”

  “Sure.”

  “All right.” He seemed to settle in a bit. “Good.”

  We didn’t say much after that. I could tell Amory was spent from his whole ordeal, and the pain was taking its toll. Soon he fell into a restless sleep. I watched his bare chest rise and fall and felt reassured that he was breathing. A muscle in his strong jaw twitched now and then, which led me to think he was still in pain even as he slept.

  I got up to put another log on the fire, and my eyes felt heavy as the warmth washed over me. Pulling the ratty quilt up around me and listening to the sound of Amory’s breathing, I fell into a light sleep.

  I stirred sometime before dawn — not because Amory had woken up, but because I felt the uncomfortable sensation of being watched. Sitting upright, my eyes focused through the dim, bluish light on Roman. He looked as though he had just come in from the back, and he was staring at me with a cold expression and his arms folded across his chest.

  “
Look at that. Sitting vigil for the hero.” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

  I shifted uncomfortably, still in last night’s clothes.

  “Did you find them?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “They’re long gone by now. Missed our only good chance at killing them.”

  I felt a flash of irritation at his callousness. “Do you even care that he’s hurt?” I snapped.

  Roman glared at me. “He wouldn’t be hurt if he hadn’t hesitated. This isn’t a game. You kill the carriers, or they kill you.”

  “Do you think more will come?”

  He snorted. “There are always more where they came from.” He eyed Amory. “Next time, there won’t be room for screwups.”

  I felt angry, disgusted even, but I couldn’t argue. Clearly, the rules had changed. They changed for me the moment the PMC took Greyson. Survival was the only law.

  “Do you really think you can run with rebels?” Roman asked.

  “They’re just a means to an end.”

  He looked down at me, a sneer cracking his lips. “Rebels always want something in return. I don’t think you have the stomach for it.”

  I glared at him. “You don’t know me at all. There’s nothing I won’t do to get Greyson out.”

  “I wouldn’t tell them that. You should never give someone the advantage of knowing your weakness.”

  “It isn’t a weakness.”

  “It is. And they’ll exploit that.”

  He walked out, and I suddenly felt small and foolish. There really wasn’t any reason the rebels would want to bring me with them. What use would they have for a girl from the city who could barely hit a stationary target? Carrier bait, I thought with grim satisfaction.

  And how did I plan to release Greyson? I had no strategy, really. What if he was already dead — beaten to death or infected in prison?

  “Hey.” Amory’s soft voice interrupted my thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

  I realized I’d spaced out, consumed with my worries. I tried to clear my expression.

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. How are you feeling?”

  “Not one hundred percent yet.”