“Val!” he calls after her.
I shake my head and follow after Val. Ethan is left standing alone with his thoughts.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Today, for our journey, Ryker and I take a larger vehicle that’s camouflaged. It looks like a cross between a jeep and a truck. Our 4-wheeler is strapped in the bed of the vehicle for use at a later time. I reach over and pull on the straps that keep it secured in place, testing their strength. Ryker is loading camping supplies, food, and extra weapons behind the front seat of the vehicle. He even slides a rifle and a box of bullets in with the other stuff.
“What’s that for?” I ask when he stands upright after reaching into the vehicle.
Ryker takes his knife belt off and lays it in on the back of the truck. As he checks over all of his knives, he answers me without looking up, “I don’t know what’s out there. Do you? You saw for yourself that there are guns outside the walls. We’re not going on this trip unprepared. Sometimes I take guns with me. I’ve even had to use them a few times.”
I glance at his arm. It’s been bandaged from the gunshot wound. Seeing Ryker injured makes my chest ache. “How is it?” I nod toward arm.
“Fine. How’s your shoulder doing?” he asks.
“Better,” I answer. I’ve had so much on my mind lately that it’s taken focus off the physical pain.
“That’s good,” he mumbles. He finishes his knife check and fastens his belt back around his trim waist. It’s most likely his second check of the day. I’ve noticed he likes to do this several times throughout the day—habit or something. Upon watching him, I realize that I’m running my own fingers across the butt of each of my knives, counting as I go along.
Ryker climbs into the cab of the truck with ease, ready for the trip, though his mind is obviously elsewhere. Perhaps he has mixed feelings about his past home. Perhaps it’s not mixed feelings, and it really reminds him of the terrible things he’s done. Of course, these are just my suspicions. I actually have no idea what he’s thinking. Maybe he thinks I’m still mad at him, since I have yet to tell him that I forgive him. I will have to do that soon, when the time is right.
The truck is high off the ground, much too high for me to climb in as easily as Ryker. I have to grab a handle on the door and pull myself up. Once inside the cab, I sit beside Ryker in the bucket seat. I offer him a smile. He doesn’t return the gesture, so I cross my arms and sink into the well-worn seat. It smells like sweat and gunpowder. This vehicle has seen many battles.
The engine starts up with a jerky growl, and I find that I’m already bouncing in the seat from the vibrations. After we emerge from the tunnel, the ride is even rougher. I have to use the seatbelt to strap myself in, as the truck climbs over heaps of concrete. We are tossed around in the vehicle until we are out of the rubble of the fallen building. Back on level ground, we are able to use some of the old roads, but they are mostly clogged with abandoned and decaying vehicles.
We travel along the shoulder, bumping and bouncing for hours. It’s completely nauseating. Ryker suggests that I ride with my window down. I let the air hit my face. It helps a little.
The landscape varies from thick masses of weeds and trees to dead earth. Deserts pop up out of nowhere—well, not exactly out of nowhere. There is usually mass destruction nearby caused from the bombs. There are ruined buildings of all shapes and sizes, scraps of who knows what littered everywhere—and I mean everywhere—and playgrounds that have been mangled and twisted into something completely cynical.
As I stare out the window of the truck, it’s like glimpsing into a different dimension, one that only offers death and destruction. There are no signs of life anywhere. It makes me sad. It’s sad to know that there were once children playing on those playgrounds and people living their lives as they wanted. Now we are all drugged into a stupor and living inside prisons.
I close my eyes tight to block out the sights. There is nothing new to see. I’ve seen it all. My mood is growing cloudy—it matches my partner’s.
***
We stop and eat lunch in the early afternoon. We don’t speak.
***
By mid-afternoon, we leave the main interstate and jump onto a two-lane highway. There aren’t as many abandoned vehicles, and we are able to travel on the actual road. I like this much better. I like it all the way up until someone shoots the truck window out next to my face.
I fall in the space between the seats to avoid the shards of glass that rain down over me. Ryker doesn’t stop the truck. Instead, he slams his foot down on the gas pedal. He bends over me, shouting, “Mena! Mena!” He wipes glass off of me with his right hand. When he lifts his hand, traces of red blood are smeared on his palm. My face is warm and my ears are ringing. Ryker is still shouting. I still have no idea if I was shot.
I run my hand over my face. When I pull my hand away it’s smeared with my blood much like Ryker’s hand. “Was I shot? Who is that?” I look up from the floor of the truck.
“No, you didn’t get shot. Get up!” he commands. “Take the wheel!”
Another shot blasts the back window out. I curl into a ball, covering my head with my hands. When the glass stops pounding me, I pull myself off the floor. We quickly switch positions.
Now sitting behind the wheel of the truck, I realize that I have no idea how to drive such a machine. This is no 4-wheeler. I accidentally hit the break and send Ryker flying into the dashboard. The rifle he’s now holding smacks him in the nose. “Gas! Not break! The pedal on the right!”
“Got it!” I scream back as I slam my foot on the correct pedal. The truck lurches forward and sends Ryker in the opposite direction. Fortunately, he was expecting it this time. He crouches beside me and ducks below the blown-out window. He takes aim at the black jeep that’s pursuing us. And even though my ears are ringing and my heart is pounding loud thunderous booms, I can still hear the calming deep breath Ryker takes before he pulls the trigger.
There’s a pop and then as I glance in the rearview mirror, I see the jeep jerk to the right, leave the paved road, and slam into a tree. Someone flies out of the windshield and disappears into the forest.
“Stop!” Ryker turns around to face me. “Pedal on the left!” He holds onto the headrest of my seat with one hand and grabs my thigh with the other. His hand is so strong. He pushes my leg down with all his might, forcing my foot to push on the brake.
We come to an abrupt stop, and then my partner shifts the truck into park for me. Seeing that my side of the truck is closer to our pursuers, he leans over me to open the door, and then climbs over me to get out.
Ryker lifts the rifle back up to his shoulder, choosing it over his knives as he approaches the wreckage. He seems to not have the prejudice for this weapon that the other Exalted have. He must have learned that from the villagers he’s run across over time.
I jump out of the vehicle and follow him, ready for a fight. This is what I’ve trained for my whole life. I don’t feel any fear, as I get closer to the enemy. I ready a knife in each hand.
The body in the woods isn’t moving, so Ryker and I separate to circle the jeep, searching for other marauders. The windows are dark and I can’t see into them. This doesn’t make me falter or pause though. My body moves with ease and confidence. Though I don’t want to hurt anyone, I’m enjoying being able to use my skills.
As I approach the back door of the jeep, I lift up the knife in my left hand. I reach out for the door handle with my right hand, and as I give it a yank, Ryker shouts, “Watch out!”
I brace myself for an attack. A marauder—who is bigger than any marauder I’ve ever seen—jumps on top of me. The thrust of my knife is blocked when it strikes and slides off the slick surface of an ax. I quickly shift my hands onto the sides of the brute’s arms, while still holding my knives. I pull back with all my might. The man is enormous, but I maneuver into a back roll with him flipping over me. Now that I’m sitting on top of him, I raise my knife to strike.
How
can this be? I give pause as I look down into my attacker’s familiar face . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY
My attacker and I both freeze as we stare at each other. And then we simultaneously shift our gaze over to Ryker when he places the tip of the rifle against my assailant’s temple. Ryker’s brows are furrowed and he’s breathing heavily. “Are you okay? What’s going on here?” he asks me as I sit straddled across someone who he thinks I should have killed.
I quickly scramble off of my attacker and grab his hand to help him up from the awkward position. When he’s on his feet, I’m completely dwarfed by his size. I am once again reminded of how I really can fit in with citizens, Ambassadors, and marauders.
“Put the gun down, Ryker. This is Az. We were trainees together. I asked you about him before, remember?” I turn back to Az, realizing how unexpected it is that he’s here. “They said you were dead.”
He replies with a blank expression, obviously still on the Pump, “Well, I’m not. They chose me to be transferred to another city like ours. I scout for them. They told me this was a higher honor than being a first place United, so I took it. Unfortunately, you will not have the honor of being my United. I am sorry to leave you with an inferior trainee. You did finish first, didn’t you?”
Az is such a gigantic, arrogant man. I am surprised he took a position that he wasn’t honored for constantly. I open my mouth to scold at him for being so forward, but that would give me away. It’s difficult to calm my budding anger. “Yes, I finished first,” I answer with a blank expression. Mentioning Kinah to him doesn’t seem important.
“Just as I knew you would. Such a shame we will not be able to produce superior offspring for the Republic.”
Gross! I just nod and then turn away from him.
As I glance over to Ryker, I realize that Az has the same job as us. But I imagine Az isn’t letting anyone go like we’ve been doing. I nearly gasp as my stomach starts to roll again. This is much worse than the bumpy ride in the truck.
“What are you doing in our territory?” Az’s voice thunders, jerking me out of my morbid thought. He swings his ax over his shoulder and peers around the jeep. He’s looking for his fallen comrade.
Ryker answers him, his face deadly serious. “We’re on a mission. We’re tracking a group of marauders.”
Az tears his gaze away from his partner, who is starting to move around a little. His size is intimidating. Even though Ryker and Az are about the same height, Az’s body nearly doubles Ryker’s in width. He has muscle on top of muscle.
But Ryker doesn’t appear to be intimidated by him, when Az counters, “On a scouting mission . . . Don’t you think we can handle our own territory?”
Az is already referring to it as “our” territory. He’s only been there for a few days. It doesn’t seem right for him to change allegiances so quickly. Perhaps the Pump allows that, but the memory of my allegiance was so strong. I can’t imagine it being so easy.
Ryker fumbles for an answer to Az’s question, but comes up with, “Of course we do, but these marauders have been in our territory for a long time, causing us a lot of problems. They’ve been stealing citizens . . . You remember that, don’t you?”
Az starts sidestepping around the jeep to check on his friend. He grunts, “Uh, sure. I remember. So you have permission to be here?”
“Of course we do, Az. Do you do anything without permission or an assignment?” Ryker counters.
Az finally gives in. “Whatever,” he says. “Help me out with my partner, Mena, since yours shot him.”
“Sure.” I follow after him. It’s the least I could do.
Az’s partner is a dark skinned man with dark eyes and long, dark hair. The Exalted man has a strong jaw and a crooked nose. He’s bleeding from his arm. This is the second gunshot wound I will have to bandage in a matter of hours. Once Az pulls his partner out of the woods and into a sitting position, I notice that he is also bleeding from a cut on his head. He must have sustained it when flying out of the Jeep’s windshield. I put pressure to it with the man’s shirt, but it won’t stop bleeding.
I look over to Az. “What?” he says. “You fix it. I don’t know anything about sewing up skin.”
“Neither do I,” I admit, trying to control my annoyance for the ridiculous situation we’ve gotten ourselves into. We came out here just to take a peek at Ryker’s old Republic, and we end up running in to someone that is supposed to be dead. There’s also the fact that I have to sew up Az’s friend’s head. Ridiculous.
Ryker thoughtfully retrieves a first aid kit that he packed in our truck. He hands it to me with a brief look of pity and a small shrug. Remembering how Jenna patched up my knife wound, I pull a curved needle, string, and antiseptic from the black case. The man that I’m fixing up is named Brian, like the head guard at the North Gate. He is older than the three of us, probably in his early 30s. He must have been training Az. How embarrassing for him to be the one shot and thrown out of his vehicle’s window . . . but of course, he can’t feel embarrassment.
The antiseptic flows out of the bottle as I pour it onto his wound. Brian doesn’t speak much and barely winces as I work on him. When I’m done cleaning his cut, I ask Az to hold his partner’s long, hair back from his face. I need it clear of hair so that I can stitch his skin back together. This is disgusting. I didn’t have to sew Ryker’s arm back up—I just bandaged it, so it didn’t affect me like it’s affecting me now. Please don’t vomit. Please don’t vomit. I chant over and over in my head.
I have to move onto his gunshot wound next. The bullet went straight through the muscle. “I can’t do anything with this except clean and bandage it. I don’t know how to fix this. I’m sorry,” I say. I pour antiseptic on the wound and then tightly tie a spare shirt around it.
When the job is done, I stand on my weak and wobbly legs and walk behind the jeep to get a second to myself. Sewing flesh back together really affected me. I breathe in the fresh air around me. It steadies my legs but not my swirling head. My vision suddenly starts to get spotty. I try to blink the fuzziness away.
Everything goes black in one quick swoop.
When I finally wake up, my head is lying in Ryker’s lap. He’s looking tenderly down at me, while smoothing my hair back away from my face. I immediately register embarrassment. I can feel my face turning red.
I look past Ryker at my surroundings. We’re sitting beside the truck. Az and his partner aren’t here, as far as I can see. “Where’d they go?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“They left. Said we had two days to get out of their territory. Don’t worry about passing out. I covered for you. I told them you got a parasite during your Third Trial and the medicine was making you ill.” Ryker smiles down at me. His affection is apparent. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks while still stroking my long hair.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, absorbing the way his touch feels. I want to remember it, because I can’t have it forever. His feelings for me have to end. My feelings for him have to end. This has to stop before we can’t stop it.
I’m frustrated that I have to keep reminding myself that I’m going to be United to someone else. Ethan. I will be United to Ethan in less than a month.
I scramble off of Ryker’s lap, and maneuver onto my knees. We stare at each other. “This has to stop,” I blurt out. “It has to.”
“I know,” he agrees as he shifts, so that he’s slightly closer to me. “The problem is that I don’t want it to stop. I love you, Mena. I know that we haven’t spent years getting to know each other, but in the short time we’ve had together, I feel like I know exactly who you are.” He reaches out and places his hand on the side of my face. “I first knew I loved you when I visited you in the cornfields, when I told you about the different emotions you could experience. You were different. You wanted to experience everything, even bad feelings. You wanted to really live. You’re not only physically strong, but you are emotionally strong as well. I mean, you’re here, taking on th
e Republic with me. You’re exactly who I want by my side.”
I take hold of his hand and pull it away from my face. His smile falters. My heart falters.
“You can’t say those things, Ryker. Please.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ryker and I setup camp in the woods. We pick a spot about two miles outside of the walled city we came to see. This is further than patrolling guards will travel, so we don’t need to worry about them spotting us. Az and his partner, Brian, returned for medical attention for the gunshot wound. We shouldn’t see them again tonight.
Thankfully, while unpacking, I learn that I have my own small pop-up tent and sleeping bag. My partner and I keep our conversation on safe topics. We speak about food, plans to spy on the city once it gets dark, and our journey back home tomorrow. Though Ryker talks to me, he is emotionally distant. This is a good thing. This is how it should be between us. And every time I find myself gazing at my handsome partner, I chant Ethan’s name in my head. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. I’ve been chanting a lot this afternoon.
Finally, we discuss a more important subject—because I bring it up. “What are we going to do about Toledo Lake? We have to warn them or get them to move,” I say with a heavy heart.
“We will,” Ryker replies. “We still have some time.” He’s sitting with his back against a tree. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, and his dark eyes look black in the dark forest. “I’ll try to schedule another away trip. But we will have to be gone for longer than one night and two days. I’m not sure that Dr. Fredericks will approve it right now. He’s been talking about putting you in with the citizens soon. If we can’t go, I’ll find someone to pass them the message. I’m hoping we can do something before they attack, so that it will never happen. I guess that’s just wishful thinking though.” He tilts his head back against the tree and looks up to the branches above.
Denounced (Exalted Trilogy: Book 2) Page 10