I search for Cash, but he isn’t here. My eyes land on Ian again. Why would they separate?
Amos takes the branches from my arms, his eyes promising he can handle the weight.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
I cross to Ian, still scanning the trees like Cash will appear from behind them.
“Where is he?”
Heaviness settles over me. I feel it like bricks laid one by one to crush me.
“He’s fine,” Ian says, starting down the path. “He’s coming.”
I run a few feet behind, careful on the loose rocks spotting this mountain trail. I stare at the back of his head, making myself believe him.
“We’ll have to find another location to hide them,” I say between breaths. Ian slows enough so we’re side by side.
“We need to push the next group a little farther north,” he says. “The Council will be moving on the south end. Most of their resources will be focused there.”
A wave of anxiety stirs inside me. “Tell me we’re doing the right thing.”
Ian says nothing at first, so I glance his way. He glares ahead.
“There was no other option,” he eventually says. “Once the Council set their minds to something, they will follow through. At this point, all we can do is try to minimize the damage.”
“Will they survive up here?” A bullet might have been an easier death than freezing in the elements.
“Their chances are better,” is all he says.
We break free of the tree line, and a crowd of at least thirty Workers runs full speed toward us. This group is louder than the last; they cry with more force, men and women both.
An old woman, fragile and worn out like Norma, falls, her knees on the damp ground. Soft earth meets one side of her face, and her body stills. I run faster, trying to be there with her—trying to beat death at its own game. I can lift her body from the ground, and hope will win. I can tell her that her whole life doesn’t have to be this. This is not all there is. But when I reach her, fall to the ground beside her, no breath is left in her lungs. There is no movement. I cover my mouth and close my eyes. Just for this moment, I let myself slip a little.
Her whole life was this valley. I wish she could have died in a gentler place.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, brushing aside hair that sticks to her chapped lips. I wonder if this was how Albert died. They were so close to freedom.
When I drag myself from the ground, I'm shivering. The rush wears off, and I feel the full impact of what’s happening. This death. The next one. Ian said we have to minimize the damage. We have to hurry, rush and run to save as many as we can because the Council know nothing of mercy, only their own ambitions and greed. I crouch beside the woman, rubbing my face while I drag in deep breaths. The tears turn to poison, the sorrow to anger. Selfishness is destructive. And I hate it.
10
The crowd disappears into the forest, following Ian to their hiding place. I pause, peering into the distance below, looking for Cash. I scan the trees and the fence beyond, but I don't see him.
A buzzing passes my ear. Half a second later, I hear the shot. Behind me, a Worker falls with a gasp, and those beside him scream. I drop to the ground, lying on my belly, and grab my gun. My heart drums against the wet dirt. A single Watcher appears a hundred yards away, running full speed after the Workers. He plants his feet, aims his rifle, and fires again. This one man plans to take down all these Workers alone. And he could, if they were not protected. He would succeed, because Workers do not fight back. But I am not a Worker anymore.
I steady my hands and pull back the slide. Aiming, I try to find a place that won’t kill him. All the other times, I ended a life. But I can be better. I can be like Edan and give this man another chance.
I do all the things Cash taught me. A surging sound fills my ears. I inhale, release it, and fire in the pause before my next breath. My arms kick back a fraction under the force of the shot. The Watcher falls, but he isn't dead yet. The bullet lodged low on his leg.
Relief rushes me, then an urgency to run. I jump to my feet and sprint to the trees. My gaze shifts over my shoulder just as the Watcher angles his rifle, propping it on the ground. He fires, and I fall to my knees to avoid it. A man lies two yards to my left, bleeding and groaning. The Watcher fires again, this time lower. I scramble farther into the dense forest, clawing at dead, wet leaves, desperation igniting my body. Another shot, another bullet cutting the air. But the farther I run, the greater my chances are. He can't follow me for long with that wound in his leg.
Yards ahead, the others rush into hiding.
An angry cry splits the cold mountain air. I pause by a wide tree truck and sit balanced on my heels, catching my breath.
“There's no point!” the wounded Watcher shouts. He's groaning, struggling with the pain. “Not one of you will get out of this valley alive.”
His voice lowers, speaking only for his own benefit.
“None of us will get out of here alive,” he says, choking on tears. A growl rises from his throat, deep and guttural. His voice is softer still when he mutters, “They won't let any of us leave.”
I close my eyes and breathe, working to calm my shaking body. I know the things he says are meant to be true. But we will leave. He doesn't know the South is coming.
For a moment, I consider calling back to the man. It's a foolish thought, but what if he knew? Would it change him to know help is coming? The Watcher left bleeding in the street flashes in my mind.
The Workers are out of sight now. I spring from the ground and run after them, my ears still tuned to the Watcher. I wonder if he will die because I've wounded him on the mountain. But I had no choice. I had to stop him. There's a twisting, squeezing ache in my chest. When this is done, when the survivors of this horror have moved on, I never want to do this again.
11
Cash still hasn’t returned when we finish settling the second wave of Workers. I ask Ian again, but he only insists that Cash is coming…that I shouldn’t worry, but it’s unavoidable now. I’m fighting back suspicion. They were supposed to stay together.
Lina stays with the Workers, moving between the two camps and tending to their needs the best she can. Christopher stays too, but he patrols the paths lower down, watching for the enemy.
As Ian and I jog back down the mountain, my thoughts linger with the Workers. Maybe they’re safer now, but for how long?
The space between us remains silent. I clench my teeth, any words I consider stuck in my throat. Worry makes me heavy, a stone dropped in my stomach, pulling me down. My feet hop from one rock to the next, and every landing hurts my body.
We reach the base of the mountain fast, in half the time it took to climb. A light snow flurries around us, but the clouds are few. The distance sky is clear.
Ian keeps jogging, turning to run parallel to the factories just inside the tree line, but my feet stop, unwilling. I face the burning structures.
“Hannah, come on!” Ian calls, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“He’s supposed to be here,” I say, my gaze stuck on the flames rising from a factory in the distance. “He was supposed to follow them out.”
I can’t leave this way. He would have told me.
I walk a fast line to Ian, and he straightens, reeling back like I’ll hit him, like I’ll shove him the way I did after Drew died. I’m not sure I won’t.
“Why isn't he with you?”
Ian scowls. “I told you. He's coming.”
“This wasn't the plan, Ian. What did he say to you?”
“That he'd assassinate the entire Council and take control of their forces all on his own.” Irritation drips from every word. “He didn't say anything! Just that he'd be right behind me. Told me to run and get help.”
I push a long breath past my lips and turn back to the factories. My lungs can't calm when my heart is pounding.
“I know what you're thinking,” Ian says, quieter. “But I promise
you, Hannah. That's what he said.”
I nod but don't look; I'll believe him fully if I do. But I can't be sure until Cash is safely with us again.
The ground rattles, and a shudder runs through the trees, shaking dried out leaves from their branches.
“What was that?” Ian's eyes narrow. He draws his weapon and runs to the clearing below the tree line, ignoring any threat that might lurk behind the fence. I rush to his side, scanning the dark woods that stretch in either direction.
Another tremor vibrates through my legs…closer.
The wind gusts, howling through the trees, making the leaves quiver, a loud shushing. But beyond the tree noise and the wind is something else. It hits my ears like a deep whisper, just a quiet, faraway rumbling. My muscles go rigid, frozen and tense while we listen. Ian tilts his head, turning his ear, trying to catch it. We're trying to catch a sound that I know will bring grief. The closer it comes, the more I feel it.
I run to the fence and press the tip of my boot into an opening two feet up. Grabbing onto the thick weaving of metal above my head, I hoist my body higher. Climbing is easy when fear pushes your movements. I scramble to the top, and Ian stands just below.
“See anything?” he calls.
I should answer. I should tell him what I see, but my mouth has dried out, and it won't move. A bead of sweat slides down my spine, slipping down my skin like the courage I felt moments ago. All of it drains fast, and what's left is numbing terror.
“Hannah?”
“I don't know...it's...”
The words leaving my mouth are stuttered, sloppy sounds. Nothing solid to grab on to. I can't tell him because what I'm seeing is beyond what I imagined. So much worse. My mind screams: Run! Move! Help them!
But I cannot.
“Hannah!”
I don’t feel my lips when they move around the words…barely hear my voice when I say it.
“They’re attacking the mountain. It’s exploding…”
They were supposed to be safer hidden in the forest. We got them out to save them. My head is buzzing.
“Get down!” Ian screams. “Hannah, get down!”
The rumbling sounds like explosions now, chunks of earth erupting in fire and rubble. Trees cracking, shattering like the glass into a million tiny splinters. The beauty gone. The Watcher was right, and Cash knew. They will destroy what's left, bury us before our salvation comes. This is them quitting, accepting defeat but grabbing the last battle. A salvaged victory.
My feet hit solid ground, and we run.
12
You feel that breeze? Father asked. His hand raised, palm out, like he’d catch it for me. He’d catch the breeze to make me smile.
It’s cold, Jon, said my mother. Time to close the window.
Only a minute, he replied gently, his arms lifting my small frame into the air. Tremors of exhaustion ran through his muscles, spilling over into my belly, where his hands held me tight.
I want her to feel it.
I giggled when he moved me, gliding me through the air like a bird in flight.
This breeze, Father said, blew in from the other side of the mountains. Don’t you sense it?
I’m flying, but his hands don’t hold me. I land hard, and a crushing pain bursts through my knee. Beneath it, a tree root juts from the ground. Ian lies in a heap several yards away, and I crawl toward him, my fingertips digging into the soil to get traction. But the mountain quakes again, and I'm tossed sideways. My body is a tumbling mass, rolling until I feel the cool metal of the fence on my face. Then a burning, and warmth trickling down my cheek.
“Hannah!”
A far away voice. I try to stand, but the trees are spinning, careening violently, and I can't tell which way is up.
Hands grip my shoulders, steadying me. A face appears, but it too is swaying, swimming in the air because everything is unhinged. Everything is wrong, and they're all dead. All of them died because we saved them. How is that right?
The face moves closer, and even though the eyes shift back and forth, I know them. They are brown, but golden when the sun's out. Relief makes my body lighter.
He urges me to run, and even in the chaos, his voice brings a feeling of safety.
“Ian!” I shout, and stumble toward his crumpled body. Cash lifts the wounded soldier, positions him across his shoulders, and we run through a gaping hole in the fence.
The dizziness doesn’t let up, so running is hard. My stomach churns, turning over on itself like the world around me. We head south, stumbling down deserted alleys, tripping over legs sprawled across the path. I don’t look; I can’t when I know what I will see. The Watcher’s words from the mountain replay in my memory, finding rhythm with my steps.
They won’t let us leave.
They won’t let us leave.
The words morph, until all I hear is:
No one leaves.
No one leaves.
No one leaves.
A scream crawls up my throat, scraping against the tender lining, filling my mouth. In front of me, Cash carries Ian the way he carried Drew. He carries the traitor in the same way he carried the victim. Ian's body bounces with the movement, his weight pressing down. Seeing this chips away at some of the panic, softening the edges of the fear. There is still good to be found here, even now, when the darkness is trying to consume us.
Ian's head bobs, his eyes suddenly open, alert. Cash notices the change and stops. When Ian's feet touch the asphalt, his body is rigid with anger.
“What have they done?” he shouts, unaware, perhaps, that we are in enemy territory. Veins bulge in his neck, and his fists are clenched tight.
“What have you done?” he shouts again, louder, voice aimed somewhere else. He slumps against a cracked wall and his hands find his face. Shaking fingers rub deep circles into his head.
Cash sets a hand on Ian’s shoulder and leans close.
“We can’t stop here,” he says. Ian’s hands lower, but his eyes stay fixed on the filthy ground.
“All of them?” he murmurs, the words barely reaching my ears. I only distinguish them because I’m thinking it too. Did all the Workers we evacuated die so quickly?
Cash shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
As we run, the mountain erupts, sending chunks of earth hurdling over the fence and into the streets. But we can't run farther in, or we risk being seen. We run and we fall and we get back up, forcing forward motion when it would be so much easier to lie down. It would be so much simpler to just curl up with these bodies and die now. I feel it...despair. It's trying to drag me under. But I know what it is to have the life drained from my body. I remember the sensation of losing my blood. And I have lived, survived, thanks to the men I run with.
Cash stays at my side, his hand always close to me. We reach the barricade remains—charred machinery and warped, melted plastic—but don't slow until we're surrounded by rebel soldiers. We press our hands to the rough brick and gasp, drawing in long breaths to slow our hearts. The dizziness eases.
“They've cut us off,” a rebel says, his words rushed. “Blown off the base of the mountain!”
“Had to have been mines,” says another.
“How long have those things been buried?”
Cash pushes from the wall and pulls me against him, holding me too tight. It hurts, but I don't try to wiggle free. I let his arms crush me, because it makes me feel separated from all the danger. His fingers dig, gripping onto the layers of clothing I wear, all the pent-up emotions coming to life in his body. His breaths are quick against my neck.
He pulls back before I'm ready, and his fingers touch around the wound on my cheek. There's a fresh bruise on his jawbone, swollen and red.
I stare at him until he meets my eyes. “Where were you?”
“Following a lead,” he says quietly. His thumb gently angles my face to see the cut better in the street lighting. All the fear I felt at his absence transforms into something ugly. I have never been angry at him b
efore, but he scared me. And I’m still feeling it. Still shaking. I push his hand away.
“You were tracking Titus.” No response. He takes a step back, glowering at the wall to our right.
“What were you going to do?”
His head shakes, never meeting my eyes. He’s closing off. A wall thrown between us. But I did not tear that separation down only to have the threat of Titus reassemble it. I pull him around a corner so we are alone. Gripping his arm, I move closer—only inches apart. This is the place I always want to be. This close, I see the roughness of his skin, see the places where lack of water has left him dry.
My anger dissolves. His eyes are sad. I press my palm over his thumping heart.
“You cannot end this alone,” I whisper. Tears pool, making my eyes hot. One slips, and its path stings. “No one is asking you to do that. Titus—he's just one man. What will killing him do if the rest are still in control?”
“I don't want to kill him,” Cash says, finally connecting. He chews his mouth, deep, slow breaths moving his chest. On the other street, the rebels argue, debating what our next move should be.
“Why did you do it then?”
But I know before he says a word. I know by the look in his eyes, the way he cannot hold my gaze. He feels the weight of all the deaths, wears them as a crown of shame. Titus has cast a spotlight on the one man in the valley most deserving of respect. Who knew light could be so heavy? It is crushing him.
I lift to my toes, sending pain shooting through my knee. All the muscles in my legs tighten, aching under the stress. My arms wrap around Cash's neck, and I try to be big enough to offer support. I try to be strong enough to bear the weight for him.
“You did not cause this,” I whisper in his ear. His hands grab on to my coat, forehead to my shoulder. His posture falls. I want to say more things, but my jaw aches too much, and my nose is burning. He doesn’t deserve this kind of pain.
“Were you going to turn yourself in?” I whisper.
Remnant (The Slave Series Book 3) Page 4