The Defectors (Defectors Trilogy)

by Benner, Tarah

  I glanced at Logan. Tears streamed silently down her face as she stared into the fire. How could she ever forgive me for Max’s death? How was it fair that he was gone right on the cusp of their romance? They never even got to say goodbye. It seemed so long ago that he was cooking us dinner at Ida’s.

  Greyson scooted over closer and put an arm around my shoulders. It was a simple act chock-full of meaning. For some people, it was an easy gesture. But coming from Greyson, who didn’t hug or give affection easily, it was the ultimate sign of solidarity and comfort. I leaned into him and breathed his familiar scent: clean laundry and summer days. I didn’t know how he still smelled that way after weeks of PMC imprisonment, but it was just Greyson. Maybe I was imagining it.

  For a moment, it was as though we were kids again and he was telling me everything would be fine. Except now, we knew everything wouldn’t be fine. In a way, that kind of hopelessness made it even more meaningful.

  “We’ll get him back,” he murmured.

  I shook my head slightly, even though I wanted it to be true. “I don’t know how.”

  My voice broke. It sounded dead and hollow.

  “You got me back, didn’t you? One way or another . . .”

  I wanted him to stop talking.

  Of course I wanted to save Amory, but it seemed ugly and insensitive to talk about getting him back next to Logan. She would never have Max back. She loved Amory, too, but not the way she loved Max. Getting Amory back wouldn’t undo her loss, and that was something I would have to live with.

  “Come on, you three,” Godfrey barked, picking up his rucksack and kicking a log on the edge of the fire. It smothered the flames, and he stomped on the smoking embers to crush out the rest of the fire.

  I looked around for my belongings and then remembered that my rifle was at the bottom of the river. The holster with my weapons was stolen by the rebels, and the rucksack I’d left Ida’s with was still in the back of the truck. Everything else I owned in the world was probably lost for good. I had nothing left to carry.

  Not knowing what lay ahead but not knowing what else to do, we followed Godfrey into the woods, leaving the silver slivers of the city skyscrapers behind us.

  There was no way of knowing what he was leading us to — a rebel camp or another trap — but I greeted the possibilities with grim resolve. There was no time left to consider our options. The only way we could go was forward into the unknown.

  As we walked, something clicked into place, and I found my mind was made up. The solution came so quickly and clearly that I knew it had been there from the very beginning.

  It came to me the way any solution does when your judgment has been bogged down by too much emotion and careful reason. I was done with reason because reason no longer had anything to do with the way the world worked.

  There was only one way to get Amory back: I would have to join the fight against the PMC, and I would have to do it as a rebel. I was joining the resistance.

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