The Defectors (Defectors Trilogy)

by Benner, Tarah

  Logan managed to get Ida up to bed, and we all spent the rest of the day frantically harvesting anything and everything that could be put away into storage. Even Roman pitched in to help. Despite all the excitement with the rebels arriving and the rest of us preparing to leave, he seemed utterly unaffected by everything that was going on. He was just as surly as usual, but he didn’t seem to care that he would be on his own.

  Luckily, with winter approaching, there would be much less work to do in the gardens. Ida would mainly have to contend with the livestock until the PMC took over the farm. The thought made my stomach churn. If they didn’t want the land for farming, there was no telling what they would do with the animals.

  In the afternoon, Logan and I made more candles and cleaned up the house the best we could. Most of the mess came from the stacks of new issues of The Patriot that were waiting to be sent out, so it was short work.

  Ida pulled herself together by midafternoon, and she emerged from her room to make a run to the Exchange.

  Still shaken from the emotional ordeal with Ida, Max retreated to the kitchen to bake some bread for the trip. I was helping him knead dough when Amory came in from lookout.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “Oh sure,” Max snapped. “I’m sure whatever job you have for her is more important than feeding us on the way to Sector X. I guess if we run out of food, we can just go through the drive-thru.”

  I shot him an apologetic look and slipped outside with Amory.

  “What the hell is his problem?”

  “I think he just feels bad for leaving Ida.”

  Amory shook his head, utterly bewildered. I didn’t blame him. No matter how tense things got on the farm, Max was never angry or sarcastic.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Since we’re heading into Sector X, I thought you should squeeze in a little more training.”

  After my first day learning how to disarm an attacker with Logan, she and Max had taken turns teaching me self-defense. Logan and I practiced hand-to-hand combat, and Max taught me how to use a throwing hatchet and a knife.

  I hadn’t trained with Amory at all after my shooting lesson. The way he made me feel, I didn’t trust myself around him. My skin prickled with excitement, but my enthusiasm dropped significantly when I saw Roman waiting by the shed.

  I looked sideways at Amory.

  He shrugged, sensing my reluctance. “You held your own fighting with Logan. I think Roman can probably help you advance better than I can at this point. After her, he’s the best at close-quarters combat.”

  My stomach lurched, remembering my last performance with Logan. She hit me so hard I blacked out for a second. I knew it wouldn’t be any easier with Roman; he wouldn’t hit lightly just because I was a woman.

  Apparently, Roman didn’t like to waste time, either.

  “Let’s see what we’re working with,” he said as soon as we were within earshot. He was looking at me with a peculiar expression. Was he amused? I had never seen Roman amused before.

  I felt a surge of affection for Amory when he handed me the throwing hatchet. He knew it was my best weapon, and he wanted me to start off strong.

  I led the guys out to the target Amory had nailed to the lone tree, starting just about twelve feet back. I could feel Amory standing just feet behind me, while Roman slouched off to the side in my peripheral vision, arms crossed over his chest.

  Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on the warmth of the well-worn wooden handle in my grip. I stepped into it and let it whip. It landed just a couple inches shy of the center of the target.

  Interpreting Roman’s silence as him waiting to be impressed, I retrieved the weapon and made my way back to where I started, counting my paces.

  Since my aim had not been perfect on the first throw, I should have stayed at twelve feet and tried again. But I knew I could do it better this time. I shuffled out to fifteen feet.

  Step, step, release — whack!

  This time my aim was true. My shoulder buzzed hot with exertion, but I felt satisfied with my throw. The look on Roman’s face was worth it. For a split second, his eyebrows shot up. Then he regained his usual half-interested look of reluctant satisfaction.

  “Get closer,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Get in closer to the target. I want to see your close-range stopping power.”

  I shuffled in to ten feet.

  “Closer.”

  I looked at Amory. Was he insane?

  Amory nodded, but he looked as surprised as I was.

  Roman stepped up between me and the tree and took the hatchet, slapping a slim dagger into my hand instead.

  “Unless you’re sniping carriers from a tree, killing is usually up close and personal. Let’s see it.”

  I was barely two yards away from the target. I adjusted my stance, stepped into it, and sank the blade with my throw.

  He stepped up to the target and yanked out the knife with ease. “More force.”

  I tried again, putting all my strength behind it. The blade sank deeper into the wood.

  Again, Roman went to pull it out, but it was embedded deeply. Struggling, he finally freed the blade, looking satisfied.

  “I hope you can fight as well as you throw.”

  He took my silence for an answer.

  “That’s what I thought.” He rolled his eyes. “Amory. Come at her.”

  I wheeled around and opened my mouth to protest. Amory was still recovering from his stab wound, but there was no time.

  Amory looked taken aback but blundered at me with an uncharacteristically awkward amount of hesitation.

  “Uh oh,” said Roman with a smirk, tossing and catching my knife carelessly in his left hand. “Rule number one: don’t lose your weapon.”

  This was a test, and neither of them thought I could do it. Without thinking, I threw a punch at Amory’s face. He seemed surprised but was still quick enough to catch my fist in his larger hand.

  Wincing, he pulled my arm down, twisting it painfully until he had forced my arm behind my back.

  I cried out and slammed my foot down on his instep as hard as I could — just as Logan and I had practiced. Amory groaned and tightened his grip. He wrapped his arms around me, pinning my arms at my sides and immobilizing me.

  My mind was racing. I couldn’t throw him off me; he was too heavy and too strong. I lowered my center of gravity and widened my stance. I twisted one of his fingers — breaking the link in his hold as Logan had taught me — and brought my fist around to collide with his head.

  He ducked and grabbed my arm. “Nice try,” he breathed.

  I twisted into him and swung my elbow up to knock him across the face, but it was much more difficult to shake him off. He was too strong.

  He wrapped an arm around my neck to restrain me, and I jabbed my elbow into his abdomen — the side opposite his stab wound.

  He grunted in pain but did not release me.

  “Stop. Stop! This is too pathetic to watch,” said Roman.

  Amory let me go, and I coughed.

  He shifted awkwardly. “Sorry.”

  “The only way you’ll stand a chance against a full-grown man is by being faster than him. You’ve got to have the element of surprise.”

  “I’m trying!”

  “No, you’re not. You’re letting him anticipate your moves. And what’s with the half-assed jabs? He can take it.”

  Amory shot Roman a look. “She’s doing fine.”

  “Better than you, anyway! What the hell was that? It looked like a bear hug from here. She’s only going to learn if it’s realistic.”

  Amory and I looked at each other.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I said. “Your wound —”

  Amory cocked his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “Again!” yelled Roman.

  This time, Amory charged at me so quickly I had no time to dodge him. He yanked me around so fast my head b
egan to spin. No hesitation this time, I jerked my elbow back into his spleen. Buckling and loosening his grip slightly from the shock, I took the opportunity to throw my weight forward and down, bringing Amory with me.

  It wasn’t an over-the-head body slam like the movies, but he lost his balance, and I was free.

  “Good!” yelled Roman. I saw the flash of my blade between his meaty fingers, and he tossed it to me. “Finish him.”

  My hand, detaching completely from my brain, reached out and caught the handle. I shivered, imagining my hand slicing open if he had missed.

  I twisted around, ready to mock-stab Amory, but his hand caught my wrist. Suddenly, I remembered our first encounter.

  But the second my mind wandered, Amory threw his weight onto me. I fell backwards, hitting my head on the ground, and felt the pressure of his right arm cutting into my windpipe.

  Amory’s hand pinned my wrist to the ground, and the knife slipped from my fingers. With a deft hand, he snatched it up and held it to my throat.

  We both stopped, and I watched him breathing heavily. His eyes were bright with adrenalin, but they were not full of the hate and fear I had seen that first day. He loosened his grip on my wrist.

  “Well, you can just taste the sexual tension out here,” said a voice from above.

  I tore my eyes away from Amory and looked up to see an upside-down Mariah smirking down at us. Her dirty-looking blond hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she was wearing a threadbare T-shirt with no bra.

  Amory lowered the knife and sat back onto his calves, as if suddenly aware that he had been hovering inches over my body. Under my jacket, I noticed my tank top was riding very low in the front. I jerked it up impatiently and sat up on my elbows to look at her.

  “Oh, don’t let me stop the fun,” she said, cat eyes flashing. “In fact, I’d like to join.”

  Roman spoke up. “We’re just teaching Haven how to fight one on one . . . in case you all run into some carriers on the road.”

  Mariah looked at him, suddenly interested. “That’s funny, seeing how carriers are weak, stupid things. Looks to me like you were showing her how to fight humans.”

  “Carriers are humans,” said Amory.

  She smiled. “Only a little.”

  “You fight a lot of carriers, huh?”

  “Why fight when you can blow their brains out long range?”

  “Haven has,” said Amory. “She escaped four that were holding her captive.”

  Mariah looked at me for the first time. “Fascinating.”

  Amory climbed up and held out a hand to me, not breaking eye contact with her. I took it and stood up next to him.

  “Well,” she said to him. “You know where to find me if you want to learn some new moves.”

  Raw hatred spilled into my gut. Watching her walk away, I marveled at how deadly she looked despite having the svelte frame of a model.

  Roman exhaled slowly when she was out of earshot. “Wow.”

  He shook his head, returning focus to me. “That was slightly less depressing to watch. Let’s run it again.”

  “She said what?”

  Logan was looking at me in disbelief as I told her in a low whisper about our conversation with Mariah. The sun was about to go down, and we were taking clean clothes off the line and folding them to be packed for the trip.

  “‘You know where to find me if you want to learn some new moves,’” I repeated. “That’s what she said.”

  “What a little snake. She’s going to try to get with Amory on this trip. Mark my words.”

  I shrugged, trying to act casual. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Logan jabbed me in the ribs, and I yelped involuntarily. They were extremely tender after my combat session with her the day before. “Oh, come on.”

  I played dumb. “What?”

  “You’d be okay with that slutbag shacking up with Amory?”

  “She’s . . . all right,” I lied.

  “She looks like a meth head,” muttered Logan. “Too skinny.”

  “They’re doing us a huge favor taking me east to find Greyson.”

  Logan shook her head once, looking serious. “They’re not doing you any favors, Haven. Trust me. They want something. I just know it.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but nothing is free. And these guys aren’t your friendly neighborhood activists like Ida. They’re rebel extremists. Their game is trying to bring down the whole government.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please.”

  She grabbed my arm. “I’m serious. These people are dangerous. And they’re only going to continue to be helpful as long as we have the potential to advance their cause.”

  I thought of Logan’s encounter with Mariah the night before and shivered.

  “Well I don’t see what that has to do with Mariah shacking up with Amory,” I said.

  “I’m just saying you should watch her.”

  You mean kill her, I thought.

  I still hadn’t said anything to Logan about what I had overheard the night before. There just didn’t seem to be a good way to bring up what I witnessed without sounding as though I was accusing her of treachery. Even if Logan was hiding something, I still trusted her more than Mariah, and I didn’t want to lose her.

  The next morning, I discovered new clothes Ida had left hanging on the hook on my door: slim-fitting black pants with a fitted holster for weapons, moisture-wicking undershirt and shorts, a sturdy-looking army jacket with plenty of pockets, and new boots that felt as if they’d be good for running.

  My bag was already packed with the few belongings I’d brought with me to the farm, along with the spare weapons Amory had gathered for me. I now had several knives and a throwing hatchet, in addition to Greyson’s knife. I slid them into my new holster and studied myself from the waist down. I looked like a soldier.

  When I came into the kitchen, the morning sky had the pale bluish glow of the hour just before sunrise. Max was sitting at the table with his forehead resting on his hands, still deep in morning fatigue. He grunted a hello when he saw me.

  Ida wheeled around from the stove, still in her robe, and raised her arms to embrace me.

  “Oh, look at you,” she said with a watery smile. “I’m just going to miss you kids so damn much.”

  “Thanks for the clothes.”

  “Oh. I just figured . . . when in Rome, dress like a rebel.”

  A loud thudding of an enormous rucksack being dragged down the stairs announced Logan’s arrival. She had her huge bag coming down behind her, in addition to the two packs slung over her shoulders.

  If my new rebel clothes made me look badass, it was nothing compared to how Logan looked.

  She was wearing skintight black pants made out of some shiny material, a long-sleeve undershirt the texture of chain mail, and a tight utility vest that plunged low and zipped down the middle.

  With her long hair pulled up into a bouncy high ponytail, she looked as though she had stepped out of a spy movie. I half expected her to be wearing high heels, but with tall boots that came up past the knee, she did not disappoint.

  “Man. I hope they’ve got plenty of trunk space for all our stuff.”

  “All our stuff?” Max mumbled from his hands.

  Logan looked annoyed. “Would it kill you to be a gentleman and help me carry these? I haven’t even grabbed my guns yet.”

  “Why don’t you all sit down and have a bite to eat?” asked Ida, clearly trying to keep the peace. “You never start a trip on an empty stomach.”

  We sat, smiling through a stack of the heaviest chocolate chip pancakes I’d ever eaten. Once I had my fill, they sat in my stomach like a brick despite the large mug of black coffee I chugged to wash them down.

  I stared down at the puddle of syrup collecting on the ugly flowery plate and felt a pang of sadness. This could be the last meal I’d ever eat with Ida. Logan and Max were uncharacteristically quiet, which made me think they were hav
ing similar thoughts.

  Amory came in through the front door looking harried. He glanced over at me, raked a hand through his hair, and hoisted Logan’s enormous rucksack over his shoulder without breaking stride.

  I got quickly to my feet, washed off my plate in the sink, and followed him outside. Godfrey was directing Mica to back up the truck to the front of the house. Amory tossed the bag into the open gate and climbed up inside to help load.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Come up here and see that all the food’s accounted for.”

  Amory held out his hand. I took it, swung my leg up, and clambered awkwardly into the truck bed. He handed me a list in neatly printed block handwriting. “This is what we’ve agreed to take. Should be enough to get us there.”

  I climbed over some bags to the back, where several crates of food were stacked and neatly organized. Rice. Beans. Potatoes. Canned vegetables. Bread. Cured meats. Jars of Max’s soups I recognized. There were also a dozen crates of bottled water, fire starters, pots, sleeping bags, first aid boxes, blankets, and crates of weapons and ammunition.

  “Everything’s there,” I said to Amory, handing his list back.

  He sighed. “This is it.”

  Before we left, I went back up to my room to check that I had not forgotten anything. My bed was neatly made, the chest of drawers was empty, and there was no pile of dirty clothes in the corner. I shot one last longing look at my cozy little bed and headed down.

  As I crossed the landing, I saw Logan’s door pushed wide open and was slightly taken aback. What had been a complete disaster zone just one day earlier in an almost endearing way was now a blank, empty room with a bed, a desk, and a dresser. Logan had packed her whole life up in that rucksack. I wondered if the room would be home to a new tenant someday.

  Outside by the truck, it was chaos. Logan and Amory were arguing about which guns to take while Max ruffled the cat’s fur. Mica and Mariah were laughing while Rulon sat impatiently in the driver’s seat. Godfrey was already napping on the passenger’s side with his dirty boots on the dashboard.

  Ida appeared at my elbow. “Here. Take some pumpkin bread for the road,” she said, pressing a soft loaf into my hand. “It’s the only thing I make that’s as good as Max’s cooking.”