by Stacey Nash
“I told you I’d help.”
“I thought . . .”
“No, Mae . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m not bailing. That was about Marcus. He’s been a bit weird lately. I just didn’t—I don’t know.” He drags out a sigh.
A weight lifts from my shoulders as Will strides down the hall, clearly eager to get away. Not that there’s anywhere to go here. With the farm gone, this base is crowded, lacking even a bedroom to retreat to despite the building’s size. That’s why I like the roof. No one else goes there, so it’s my own private refuge. Will’s thinking ahead of me though. He pushes open another door only a little way down the hall from the workshop. One I’d never even noticed. Inside, the room’s empty, except for a beanbag and a bunch of papers piled high in one corner.
Lilly throws herself into the beanbag and Will perches on the narrow windowsill.
“What’s the plan?” he says.
I pace back and forth, because I have no idea. Not yet anyway and walking helps me think. Chances are she’s still in Collective territory, but getting there will be near impossible.
Will jumps up off the window and tugs at my cardi. “Frick it, Mae, what happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I brush his hand aside.
“What happened?” he says again. “There’s blood . . .” His fingers press into my back. “. . . right here.”
“No, there’s not. I’ve been in a classroom all day, so there can’t be.”
“Then how’d you get hurt?”
“I didn’t.” I pull the offending garment off and sure enough a blood stain marks the teal-colored wool, smack on the spot where my right shoulder fits. “How the heck did blood—”
The words freeze on my tongue.
Jax.
Unlike me, he saw active duty today. I was there when he ported out and later I didn’t even ask what set the siren off—if he fought. He hugged me, his front to my back. I touch my own chest, thinking it would be his right . . . shoulder? Oh god, he must be hurt. I’m so selfish. How did I not notice when he must have been in pain? We lay on the roof for hours and he was bleeding, hurting.
“Crap, crap, crap.”
Understanding, Lilly shakes her head with a grimace. He didn’t ask her for help either. What if he’s still bleeding? I cross the room in long strides, grab the doorknob, and Lilly’s voice stops me. “He’ll be all right. He must have gotten help from Mom, or maybe it wasn’t that bad.”
Will’s tone dips. “The blood’s not yours, is it?”
“No. I’ll wash it off later. Milk gets bloodstains out, did you know that? Martha taught me. Just soak it in milk overnight and then rinse water through and it’s gone. Poof. Just like that. You should try it, Will, it’s quite amazing.”
“He’s fine,” Lilly says again. “Relax.”
Got it. Stop babbling.
“How did . . .” Will tips his head to the side.
I don’t owe anyone an explanation, and it’s not worth an argument with Will, so I’d better change the subject. Lilly’s right, Jax will be okay. He knows how to look after himself. I let my hand fall, then turn around to face them. “Why does everyone assume I have a plan?”
“C’mon, Mae, you always have a plan,” Lilly says.
“Well . . .” Will backs up to the window, and plants his hands on the sill. “We could talk to Beau since we can’t get into Manvyke’s home and that’s where you last saw her. I’ve got nothing else.”
He’s right. The resistance attack caused a knee-jerk tightening of security, so the Collective community is bound tighter than Lilly’s multitude of tiny braids.
“Even with your barrier blaster?” she asks.
Will laughs. “Yeah, especially with that. It seems they tweaked their protection.”
“I don’t think she’d be there anyway.” I resume my pacing. “I mean everyone there knows her. How would he explain a sensor’s sudden memory loss?”
“Sensor?” Will and Lilly speak at the same time.
“Like a priestess or guardian or something. They’re important people in the Collective, almost sacred.” And my mother is one of them, but I can’t think about that right now. Can’t even acknowledge it.
One foot in front of the other, four paces across, then turn and four back.
Lilly spins to look back at me. “Oh, is that what she is?”
“Yes, Lil. She has a job, a position, she is Collective. There, I said it.” I glance at Will then back at her. “Are you both happy? My mother’s Collective.”
“Mae,” Lilly says slowly.
“What?” I snap.
“No one was making any accusations. We’re both here because we want to help you.”
Will stares at me like he can’t believe what I just said. I’m such a jerk. Guilt cuts through my heart. A feeling I’m getting far too used to, which sucks.
Lilly’s wriggles rustle the beanbag. “Well, if she’s not there—at their community—then where is she?”
“I don’t know.” The earlier excitement fades with my hopes.
“I can’t stop thinking about it though. If Manvyke manipulates Collective attacks to target people I care about, then what has he done to her? He has my mother in his grasp, but I don’t think he’d kill her. It’s not painful enough. Besides, he still wants my cover-up. Maybe I should just—”
“No,” they say in unison.
I sigh. “The only other place I know of is the council building.”
Will’s gaze flicks to me, bright and alert. “He has offices there, right?”
“And torture rooms,” Lilly adds.
I freeze. Oh, good lord, no. This feels like déjà vu, but it’s not. It’s different. This time we know what we’re doing, and where we’re going. We know exactly what we’re getting ourselves into, which makes it ten times worse.
“Did he have a computer in his office? A work desk? Papers? Anything?” Lilly asks. “Maybe we can find something that might be a lead.”
I nod. “He had a full working office. It’ll be risky, but it should be doable if we can get in.”
Will says, “Beau might actually—”
“No!” Lilly cuts him off. “Even if he supports this, there’s no way he’ll let me go into Collective territory and I want in on this.”
Resuming my pacing, I cross the room, then turn back. Somehow walking makes my brain tick faster, pulls better thoughts out. “The only reason we got in before, is because Manvyke wanted us to. He was practically waiting for me in that office.”
“True. So how will we get through the barrier?” Will pauses and I feel him thinking with that faraway look he often gets. “Especially now that we know it needs pure Collective blood. Something none of us have, but last time—”
My gaze crashes into Lilly’s. “Jax.”
She nods. “It’s time we brought him in on this, anyway.”
“What’s the time?”
“Almost eleven p.m.,” Lilly says.
“His shift is over. He’s probably in bed, or winding down.” Which is exactly where we should be too since he’s hurt. “I’ll go get him.”
My heart lightens, lifting my whole chest in an airy beat as I run through the halls and climb the stairs to the third floor. There’s probably something wrong with being excited about sneaking into Collective territory, but I’m not going to analyze it. I’m just excited at the thought of seeing my mother again is all.
I dash along the hall and bite down on a smile as I push through the door into the dorm we all share. Jax will be happy to do something proactive again, rather than just fight back. He’s like that; all about actually stopping the Collective. The soft sound of snoring floats on the air. That’ll be bugging the heck out of him. He hates noise when he’s trying to sleep. I make a beeline straight for the beds where the four of us sleep in a row: Will, me, Lilly on the other side, then Jax . . .
I stop short.
His perfectly made bed, the linen pulled taut over the mattress, ha
sn’t been slept in. A chill spreads through me. Jax never makes his bed and he doesn’t let Ace sprawl over the covers like it’s a dog bed. The cheeky mutt even has his head on the pillow. I about-face and jog down the stairs, heading for the first floor, for the kitchen. Maybe he was hurt worse than I thought and the wound’s taken longer to treat. Lilly did say he would have gone to Martha for help.
When I arrive, Martha looks up from dragging a wooden spoon through the world’s biggest pot, her head drooping like she’s ready for bed. The poor woman must never get time to sleep with so many extra mouths to feed. Beau should allocate refugees to help in the kitchen rather than sending them to the market stalls. Stains spot her usually pristine apron and wisps of graying hair have escaped her usually tidy bun. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” She frowns. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Jax?” I ask.
“Ah, I patched him up a while ago. That was sure a nasty puncture on his shoulder. I wouldn’t exactly call it a stab wound, it wasn’t that deep, but it looked like a blade had been twisted—”
“Martha,” I cut her off, “is he okay?”
“Oh, of course, dear. A little poultice, a dressing, and he was just fine.”
I let out the breath that stuck in my throat. “Where is he?”
“Haven’t a clue. Why don’t you try the port room?”
She’s right, that’s his place as much as the roof is mine. I power up the stairs again, dash past the open door where Will and Lilly are both waiting and go straight to the port room, ignoring the ominous feeling in my belly. Skid to a stop in the doorway, chest heaving, pulse racing and glance around the room.
Evan’s sitting in the middle of the port mat, right on the red bull’s-eye, flicking playing cards between his fingers.
My heart pounds hard, trying to escape through my ribs.
He’s not here either.
I spin around and bolt out the door. Something’s wrong. Will and Lilly gawk from the middle of the hall, but I don’t have time to stop and explain. Not with the heavy feeling in my tummy, the sudden knowledge that something’s inherently not right. I have to find him; it’s urgent now.
Beau. Beau will know.
Lilly plasters herself against the wall and Will’s hand catches my arm, pivoting me to a stop. “Let me go,” I shout, but he doesn’t.
“What are you doing?”
I pull my arm in, but he doesn’t loosen his harsh grip. “Let me go, Will!”
“Everything all right?” Evan says from the other end of the hall . . . the whole of C-shift have spilled out of the port room.
“Yes, thanks,” Will says.
“If you’re looking for Jax,” Evan says, “he collected a few weapons a while ago. Said he was heading out. He didn’t port though.”
“What do you mean?” The words fall out of my mouth.
Evan just shrugs. No freaking help at all.
“Thanks.” Will tugs me back into the room, snicks the door closed behind us and meets me glare for glare.
“What was that all about?”
“I can’t find him . . .” I pant, suddenly out of breath.
I’ve got no idea where or for how long, but it’s pretty obvious that Jax is gone and my gut tells me he’s not coming back.
That’s something I don’t like at all.
Chapter Seven
Jax
Since I ride this motorbike more often than Marcus, he should just give it up. With its newly added tech and raw design, it’s more my type of machine anyway. The engine vibrates against my thighs, barely making a sound. And that’s what I like best of all, the soothing silence, which makes it easy to lose myself in the ride. Regardless of ownership, Marcus was happy enough to let it go for however long I’m gone, which suited me. If I had ported, the coordinates would have been traceable.
With this baby there’s no risk of anyone following, of me dragging anyone else into this fight with my brother and my asshole of a father. This battle is mine alone. If Mae had known my intentions, she would have come too and there’s no way that’s happening. I have to keep her safe, well away from both of them. I flick on the new tech Marcus fitted to the machine, and a shiver moves over me, similar to the feel of activating Mae’s cover-up. Works the same too. The entire motorbike should now be invisible with absolutely no chance of being followed. Lucky there’s not a lot of traffic in the middle of the night. Marcus couldn’t have thought about the dangers of an invisible vehicle cruising along the highway. I flick it back off quickly; wouldn’t want to alert the Collective or anyone else to my whereabouts. They’d be continually scanning for tech use.
Even though it was hard to do, it’s good I left. Now Mae will have time to think. The night stretches before me, the ride dragging on. By the time I reach my destination, the sun hangs well above the horizon and the need for sleep makes my eyes feel gritty.
A hide-all shimmering ever-so-slightly around the parking lot means I’m in the right place. I ride right through the barrier, designed to cloak tech use, and into the lot that holds only two other vehicles—a white van and a blue pickup—although there is room for hundreds more. An empty crisp packet tumbles through the open space, spurred on by the cool wind. I shove my hands into my jacket and pull it closed.
A billion cracks cutting through the lot show just how much it’s used: never. I stomp down the weeds growing between the fractured tar as I cross to the old warehouse, complete with broken windows and graffiti scrawled over its walls. Homing in on the only door, its green paint peeling to show a metal base, I stare for a few minutes, unsure how to gain entry. A solid metal bar spans from one side to the other, shot home into the frame. I take a step back and look up. Every second window on the next floor is broken, frosted glass shards surround the edges of the smaller frames inside the larger windows. Down here on the ground everything’s boarded up, but looking closely, there are signs of use; little things that make it obvious people live here. An unbroken window with dust smeared over the pane, leaving a convenient peephole right in the center. On the third window to the left of the door, there is a semicircular groove in a board and a dark stain at its side, as if touched in the same place over and over. That’s got to be the entry point.
Before I’m even at the board, I spot the sign of resistance: a small green symbol in the top left-hand corner of the door. The overlapping arrows sit snugly inside the circle, their points touching the edge, symbolic of the equality for which we fight the Collective. No one body of people is worth more than another. Within the circle, we’re all equal, or at least that’s how it should be.
I’ve definitely come to the right place. Having only been here by road once, ages ago, I wasn’t certain that I’d find it.
I grab the wooden board, my hand covering the grimy, well-used spot. It swings no more than an inch before the click of a bullet entering a chamber stops me cold.
What’s the code word? I never thought to ask Beau before leaving. Coming and going on the farm is so simple. Out there, pretty much the only way people arrive is by porting, and the hide-all means Collective can’t find us. If you port in, you’re resistance. I drum my fingers against the board.
“Beau will have your ass if you take out his best man.” I aim for confidence, letting the board drop and turn around making strong eye contact with the kid taking aim at my chest. His eyes dart from left to right and his fingers fidget on the trigger.
“Beau who?” he says.
A shadow of crazy clouds his eye. I’ve got to play this right. I half-shrug, an attempt to cover my twitching nerves. This kid could put a bullet right through me if he thinks I’m Collective, maybe even if he thinks I’m just an innocent trespasser.
He darts a glance over his shoulder, then back to the left before returning to look at me.
“Fairsmith.”
He stabs my chest with the barrel. “Get inside.”
I swing the makeshift door aside and step through the window. Darkness clouds my vision for a fe
w seconds before my eyes adjust to the dim light.
“Get the gun off of him, Johnny. That’s Beau’s boy.”
A man walks out of the shadows, older—maybe around Beau’s age, or a little younger. He looks tired, worn. His long gray hair is tied back at the nape of his neck and a thick mustache lines his upper lip. Frank.
The kid drops his weapon and I roll my shoulders back.
“Told ya,” I say to Johnny. “The best.”
He grunts and spits on the concrete floor then walks away. Once he’s out of earshot, I say, “That one leans toward crazy. Might want to watch him.”
“That’s not your concern.” Frank hooks a thumb in his belt. “What are you doing here? Have you got a message?”
“If I had a message would I’ve rode in?”
“Cut the smart mouth attitude, boy. What’s going on?”
I suck back a breath. Looks like it’ll be a long month—or however long I stay. “Congratulations, the cavalry’s here.”
Frank shakes his head. “You’re it? Just . . . one lousy teenager?”
I smile.
“Great,” he says, “we’ve got Collective attacks every two minutes and refugees coming out the wazoo and you’re all they can spare from down south. Just frickin’ great.”
“Well . . .” I turn away. “I guess I’ll go home if you don’t want me.”
“No.” Frank holds up a hand. “No, I don’t mean that. It’s just . . .” He sighs. “I need twenty men, not one.”
I shrug. “I’ll try.”
“I could use you right now . . .” He nods toward a corner of the huge warehouse where two men sit on upturned crates. “We work on a shift system and this one’s a little light. Jump in over there now.”
I give a curt nod and walk over to the port equipment, which looks pretty ancient. The computer’s not only a block, but covered in grime. There is a tall, skinny guy who looks like he should be in the shop with Marcus—probably got something to do with his evolution of man T-shirt. Another man, Spinner as he introduces himself, has huge knuckles and gray hair, and drops his knife every second spin as he tries to flip it around his aged fingers. It’s no wonder Frank called for backup.