by Tarah Benner
Soren was one of the strongest people Lark knew, and yet she had seen him unravel when they’d been held captive at Cheyenne Mountain. She’d watched him beat the walls of his cell until his wrists turned black and blue, but she didn’t want him to know that she’d watched the security footage and witnessed his mourning.
“When my mom died, I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” said Lark after a moment. “I felt . . . separate from everyone — like nothing else in the world mattered.”
Soren swallowed. He was avoiding her gaze again.
“It doesn’t last forever,” Lark finished. “It doesn’t ever go away, but it gets better.”
Soren didn’t nod or answer, but Lark knew that he had heard her. After a moment, he found Lark’s hand and enveloped it in both of his. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of his callused hands massaging her fingers.
Lark leaned in, and Soren pulled her closer. She heard his deep, ragged breathing a second before his lips crashed against hers and his fingers tangled in her hair. He cupped the back of her neck with his good hand, and Lark fought the urge to crawl into his lap.
She didn’t get goosebumps the way she usually did, but Lark was desperate to lose herself in that kiss. She put her hand on his chest and kissed him slowly, but Soren seemed to be on a different plane. His kiss was rough, scratchy with stubble, and Lark sensed that he just needed a distraction to keep from tumbling into the depths of despair.
After a while, they broke apart, and Lark helped Soren pull on his sweatshirt. The temperature had started to drop, and the others were bickering over the foil blankets. Lark could still see the glow of sunlight fading beyond the canyon, but the sky was darkening quickly in their little pocket of the forest.
As they settled in for a few hours of sleep, Lark was thankful for their roaring fire. Her clothes were still slightly damp, but once she curled up between Soren and Denali, she wasn’t all that cold.
Axel’s snores quickly filled the trees around them, and Lark knew Bernie was asleep from the heavy, even breaths that had filled their shanty for years. Lark lay down but couldn’t relax. Her mind was still wide awake.
Where was the Soren that she’d left in Texas? Seeing the ruins of his childhood home and learning that his brother was dead would have traumatized anyone, but Soren was inconsolable. Micah’s death seemed to have shattered him, and Lark had no idea how to pick up the pieces.
It wasn’t the lack of passion that was bothering her; it was that far-off look in his eyes. He’d never pushed her away before, but right then it seemed as though he wanted nothing to do with her at all.
Back in Cheyenne Mountain, all she’d wanted was to see Soren’s face and know that he was alive. But there he was lying right beside her, and Lark still felt as though he were a million miles away.
After several minutes of restless tossing and turning, Lark sat up, pulled off her boot, and dug out the canvas pouch of seed that Kira had given her.
Her heart sank. The pouch was completely soaked. Unless she planted them right away, the seeds would be ruined, and any chance of spreading GreenSeed’s crops to the world would be gone.
Shaking her head, Lark unraveled the little drawstring and opened the pouch. She stuck a finger inside and felt around, only to experience a sudden swell of gratitude. Inside, Kira had carefully packaged each variety of seed in a little roll of cellophane that looked as though it had come from a soap package. She smiled.
“What is it?” Soren croaked, rolling over and squinting up at her.
In the warm glow of the flickering fire, Soren looked exhausted but just as handsome as ever. His eyes were hooded with fatigue, but the rest of his face was warm and relaxed. His feathery black hair was mussed from sleep, and he was looking at her as though they were somewhere else entirely.
“What are you doing?” he asked, getting his good arm under him so that he could pull himself into an upright position.
“I was just . . .” Lark stared down at the seed. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold on to all of this.”
“The seed?” asked Soren with a note of surprise. “How come?”
“If we got separated or if I got captured . . .”
“You’re not going to get captured,” said Soren. His voice was serious — almost certain — and Lark knew that he was saying it because he could not handle the alternative.
“You don’t know that,” she whispered.
“Lark. We can’t think like that.”
“We have to think like that!”
Soren shook his head. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”
“And look at us,” said Lark, her voice shaking a little as she nodded at Bernie, whose bandaged leg was thrust out behind her at an odd angle.
“Hey . . . We’re all still here.”
Lark sighed, feeling just as determined. “I want you to take half of the seed.”
Soren shook his head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Please,” she said. “Just take it. It would make me feel so much better.”
Soren studied her for a long moment. Lark knew that he could see her better than she could see him. With the shadows falling across his face, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Okay,” he said finally. “But only to make you feel better. Not because I think anything is going to happen.”
“Fair enough,” said Lark, cracking a smile.
Soren sat up and watched as Lark divvied up the little plastic packets and tucked them into a tin from the first-aid kit.
“This is bigger than us,” Lark murmured, sliding it across the ground to Soren. “Whatever happens, we have to get these seeds to the people who need them.”
“I’ll guard them with my life.”
Even though Lark knew he was only humoring her, Soren didn’t take the responsibility any less seriously. He understood the importance of GreenSeed’s crops, and he understood Lark’s sense of duty, even if he didn’t share it.
When the rest of the seed was safely stowed in Lark’s boot, she lay down on her side facing Soren. He was lying on his back to take some of the pressure off his injured shoulder, but he reached over with his good arm and found Lark’s hand.
“One day, this will all be over,” he breathed. “One day, it’ll just be us.”
His voice was so quiet that Lark wasn’t sure she’d heard him right at first. But as she turned this statement over in her mind, she sort of understood what he meant. Their romance had been forged in the most miserable of circumstances, and it seemed that the danger and the heartache would never stop coming.
People died, and they spent their days fighting to stay alive. There was no time to stop and savor the moment — no opportunity to look forward to the future. It had to change. At least she hoped it would.
The temperature in the canyon continued to plummet, and their fire eventually burned down to coals. She could hear the whisper of a deer foraging for food and what sounded like a fox digging into the burrow of an animal it was hunting. These were sounds that Lark had grown accustomed to in San Judas, and eventually she managed to shiver herself into an uneasy sleep.
Lark tossed and turned on the cold hard ground and awoke almost instantly at the sound of Denali’s growl. Lark sat bolt upright, a fresh surge of panic hot in her throat.
Something was wrong. The deer was gone. The fox had stopped burrowing for its prey, and the trickle of the creek had faded into nothingness. She could hear a faint rustling in the trees, and every nerve in her body told her that it wasn’t an animal.
Someone was out there, and they were looking for Lark and the others.
3
Soren
Soren awoke to someone shaking him hard. He opened his eyes and immediately sensed that something was wrong. Lark was hovering over him wearing a terrified expression, and Denali was growling low in his throat. Someone was invading their campsite.
Denali made a noise as if he was gearing up to
bark, but Lark wrapped her hand around his snout to quiet him. She kicked Bernie and Simjay awake, and Simjay clapped a hand over Bernie’s mouth when she muttered a sleepy “Whaddisit?”
Soren was on his feet in an instant. Conrad, it seemed, had never fallen asleep at all. He was turned in the direction of the noise and had his gun pointed into the woods.
Suddenly, Soren heard voices. A flash of light flickered through the trees before panning over their campsite, and Lark let out a noise that was more like a gasp than a whisper: “Run.”
They sprinted through the darkness, Soren dragging Lark by the hand. Bernie was having a hard time on her crutches, and Lark kept turning around to make sure that she was still behind them. Denali tore through the underbrush, and Simjay hoisted Bernie off her feet.
Soren was sure that the men who’d been searching for them would have no trouble following. Between Simjay’s thundering footfalls and Denali tearing through the weeds, they were making a huge racket.
Axel was moving faster than Soren had ever seen him. He was leaping over rocks and logs with one of Bernie’s crutches in each hand, looking like a Spartan blazing into battle. Conrad was wheezing as he tried to keep up, his arms flaring out at odd angles as he ran.
Soren couldn’t see the stars through the canopy, so he had no way of knowing which direction they were headed. They tore through the woods with a manic sort of aimlessness. He couldn’t tell if Homeland Security was closing in — perhaps using the canyon’s natural geography to funnel them into a trap — but it hardly mattered. Soren couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead of him. He wouldn’t have been able to see an ambush coming even if he had had his wits about him.
They flew over a steep embankment, and the terrain leveled out. There was no more tree cover and no more bushes. They were standing on bare hard-packed dirt, and Soren realized with a start that they were standing in the middle of a road.
He felt incredibly exposed, but following the road seemed like the smartest thing to do. He had no idea how far they were from the nearest town, but they couldn’t run forever. They needed to find a vehicle to make their escape.
“Come on,” he huffed, beckoning the others to follow.
They jogged down the narrow dirt road, their pace slowing considerably as fatigue caught up to them. Every so often, Soren would glance over his shoulder to make sure Axel and the others were still behind them, but he quickly lost track of their shapes in the dark as he pounded down the road. The sky was covered with swirling silver clouds, and with the tall stands of trees hemming them in on both sides, the road was pitch black.
Suddenly, Lark stopped and yanked him back with a jolt. She was panting too hard to whisper, but she pointed off to their left at a shape some ten or twelve yards off the road.
Soren squinted through the darkness, and the shape of a cabin came into view. Relief flooded through him. He tapped Axel on the shoulder as he caught up and pointed at what Lark had found.
The gravel drive was overgrown and in dire need of grading, but as they drew closer, Soren spotted the cabin. There was a pair of men’s boots by the front door and a beat-up old Subaru parked out front.
“What are — the chances — they left us — some gas?” Soren panted to Lark.
“What’re ya’ll —” Axel began. Soren cut him off with a sharp elbow to the ribs. He pointed silently at the cabin, trying to convey the message that there might still be someone living inside.
“You wanna steal that hippie mobile?” Axel slurred in a loud whisper.
“Where are the others?” Lark hissed, looking behind Axel for the rest of their group.
But Axel couldn’t bother to concern himself with the others’ welfare. He ambled over to the Subaru and peered inside the driver’s side window.
“No key,” he called in a hoarse whisper, still too loud to be covert.
A few seconds later, Conrad dragged himself up the driveway, looking weak from exertion.
“Where are Bernie, Simjay, and Portia?” asked Lark.
Soren was beginning to feel uneasy. He could no longer hear Simjay puffing down the road behind them, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spotted Portia.
“I’m going back to look for them,” said Lark.
“No,” said Soren, reaching out to grab her arm. “Stay here. They’ll —”
“I’m not leaving them behind,” Lark broke in, yanking her arm out of his grip and heading back the way they’d come.
Soren dragged in a ragged breath. He really didn’t like that. His heart was still hammering against his ribcage, and his skin was tingling with the feeling he got whenever he was being watched. He didn’t want Lark wandering around on her own.
“Looks like we’s gon’ have to do this the ol’-fashioned way,” Axel grumbled.
It took Soren a second to register what he meant, and by the time he did, Axel was already on the move.
“Axel? Axel, no!” Soren hissed.
But it was too late. Axel had disappeared around the side of the house. He was going to break in. Soren ran to catch up, but then he heard a crash of glass, followed by a heavy thud.
“What are you doing?” Soren hissed. Axel was going to get them all shot.
Axel didn’t answer. He was already letting himself into the kitchen, and Soren knew that he was going for the keys.
Just then, Soren heard a voice from the other side of the house.
“Guys?” It was Simjay. “Guys?”
A second later, Soren saw a light flicker on inside the house, and a jolt of alarm flared through his system. Someone was awake on the second floor.
Soren took off around the house, hoping that Simjay would shut the fuck up. But before he was even halfway around the cabin, he collided headfirst with a solid mass of flesh.
“Ow!” Soren fell back and put a hand to his forehead.
“Who’s there?” Simjay called.
Soren made a wild sweeping motion with his arm that caught Simjay around the neck. He clapped a hand over his mouth, watching a shadow move across one of the upstairs windows.
Soren swore. Another light had just come on inside. “We have to move,” he mumbled, ducking down and pulling Simjay back toward the front of the house. His breaths were coming low and fast. Axel was still inside, Bernie and Portia were missing, and Lark had gone to look for them.
“Where’s Bernie?” Soren asked.
“I left her around front.”
Just then, Soren heard heavy footfalls coming up behind them, followed by a yell and a crash from inside the house.
“Shit,” said Soren, grabbing Simjay by the shirt and dragging him back toward the road. “Come on.”
“Where’s Portia?” came Bernie’s scared, squeaky voice.
“She’s not with you?” Soren squinted through the darkness. “What about Lark? Did you see her?”
“No.”
Soren’s chest tightened. “Where the hell are they?”
He was no longer bothering to keep his voice down. He was quickly crossing over from anxious to frantic. Homeland Security wasn’t far away, and somehow he’d lost Lark.
Then Soren heard someone sprinting through the yard.
“We gotta go!” yelled Axel.
“Where’s Lark?”
“How the hell should I know?” Axel growled, throwing open the car door and starting the engine.
All of a sudden, a gunshot cracked the air, and they all ducked instinctively. Soren’s heart flew into his throat, and a surge of adrenaline shot through his veins. His blood was pumping fast and furious, pounding in his temples and making it impossible to think. He felt a crippling surge of terror mixed with desperation. They had to go.
“Lark!” he called. “Lark!”
Nothing.
“I thought she was with you,” Bernie cried as Simjay helped her to the Subaru.
“She went looking for you!” Soren yelled. “I never should —”
But his words were drowned out by another gunshot.
It hit the side mirror of the Subaru, and Simjay let out a yelp.
“Lark!” Soren yelled, feeling her name rip up his throat with the pain of something that was already lost. “Where are you?”
Somebody yelled down from the window upstairs, but Soren had no idea what they were saying.
“We have to go!” Simjay cried, stuffing Bernie into the car.
“I’m not leaving without her,” Soren snarled.
Bernie, for her part, was also putting up a fight. But she was injured, and Soren was faster. Without thinking, he tore down the driveway and headed back in the direction Lark had disappeared.
“Lark!” he screamed, squinting through the darkness. “LARK!”
Several more gunshots sounded from the house, but Soren was more concerned about the men pursuing them from Homeland Security.
Lark couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t. If something had happened to her — if she’d been captured — Soren would never be able to forgive himself.
But just then, he saw a dark blur flying toward him out of the corner of his eye. It collided with his shoulder, and relief flooded through him.
“Lark?” he breathed, reaching out to feel her. He knew instantly by the touch of her braid that it was her. He let out a cry of relief and pulled her into his arms.
“Oh my god!” he said, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her warm familiar scent. “Let’s go.”
As if on cue, he heard the crunch of gravel as the Subaru peeled out of the driveway. Soren and Lark leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding having their toes crushed by the back tires.
“Get in!” yelled Axel, half hanging out of the driver’s side window.
“Where’s Portia?” Bernie asked.
“I couldn’t find her,” said Lark.
“Did you see —” Soren broke off. He’d just heard something that sent his heart into overdrive: the rumble of an engine coming down the road.
Denali barked in alarm, and Lark whipped her head around to look. That’s when Soren saw the flash of headlights flickering over tree trunks. They’d been followed, and their captors were gaining on them.