Finding a large sandwich, he took a bite. Delicious. He hadn’t eaten all day. Relaxing a little, he inhaled the food, speaking around a mouthful, “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to come back for a visit since last month. I’ve been working with the newest recruits.”
Every fresh batch of low Numbers to arrive on the island knew nothing about fighting. But Jeremiah hadn’t either when he started. Teaching that was easy. The hard part was instilling confidence – removing the brainwashing of the Number system. Many needed months on the island before the truth even began to sink in. He enjoyed that work, but had missed his visits with Beryl. “Any news since last month?”
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, but a shuffling followed the response instead of her news. “This is ridiculous. It’s so dark my old eyes can’t even see you.” A match hissed, lighting up a small circle of space around them as Beryl lit one of the gazebo candles. Even as Jeremiah opened his mouth to object, she shook a finger at him. “I have Ingrid and Ibo keeping the staff busy, don’t worry. No one’s going to spot us.”
Again, Jeremiah sighed. Ingrid and Ibo were true believers. He’d attended the house church with them for years – they weren’t informants. He didn’t trust the rest of the household staff nearly as much, but dropped it. He’d learned early on not to argue when she had that tone. “This is the last run, anyway,” he told her. “Thank God you can’t get yourself in too much trouble before we’re back in a week.”
“Just a week?” Her voice rose. The candlelight lit up her face as her forehead wrinkled in surprise. “I suppose I knew the time was coming.” It had been nearly three years since they’d begun planning this venture, two since they’d begun helping refugees escape. “It just feels so sudden.”
Jeremiah nodded his agreement. “I know. But it’s time. We need to keep the element of surprise. If someone ever questioned the work rule…” he trailed off. It didn’t need saying that all their work would be for nothing. “It’ll be two days back to the island, as always, and we’ll stay there for three to let the last group consider joining us, and then two days back. One week. It’s past time really.”
“Well then.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their carefully-laid plans draining the light-natured conversation out of them.
“Oh, my news,” Lady Beryl perked up. “I held an Abandoned Kittens Fund for the high Numbers a few days ago. It was a huge success. Almost as many donations as last month’s Whale Relief event.” She grinned wickedly, winking as if she were just twenty-two years old like him, instead of nearing her sixty-third birthday. “I already sent all the donations ahead with Luc when he stopped by yesterday. Enough to keep the camp going for nearly a month.”
Jeremiah smiled his thanks. Luc had been his closest friend at the orphanage all those years ago. Two years older than Jeremiah, Luc had taught him how to steal food when Mr. Meyers withheld it, how to run away from the Regulators, and how to survive as an orphaned low Number. Leaving his best friend behind at age 15 had eaten at him. When he’d mentioned Luc to Lady Beryl, in the hopes of convincing her to hire 17-year-old Luc on as a gardener or butler or driver, somewhere he could make himself useful, he tried not to expect much. But despite the fact that Luc was just months away from turning 18, Beryl had adopted him as well.
Though Luc had refused to attend the house church with them, he felt indebted to Beryl. They had found a comfortable understanding. And Luc had leapt at the chance to join their plans. Now, as one of the twelve members of the council Jeremiah had formed from the refugees on the island, Luc was Jeremiah’s second in command whenever they made trips back and forth between Eden and the island, collecting unwitting refugees via the work rule. Jeremiah trusted his friend and adopted brother with his life.
“I realize now that’s more than you needed,” Beryl continued when he was quiet.
“Don’t worry, Welder will find a use for the money,” he said, smiling. The older man was also one of his council members now, though he was often gone, overseeing missions to Eden. He was still the most experienced at running their ships. “He said to tell you hello, by the way,” he teased Beryl. “I think he misses you.” That was an understatement. The quiet man had been in love with Beryl for as long as Jeremiah had been around, and everyone could see it, except Beryl.
“He’s a good friend, that’s all,” Beryl tsked. “I’ve had two husbands already. I’m too old to have a boyfriend.”
“If you say so,” Jeremiah said, trying not to smile. If their plans next week were successful, he intended to bring it up again, but for now, he dropped it. He had a more important request tonight. “Beryl, listen. I need you to go to your summer home. Delmare won’t be safe next week.”
“Oh, goodness.” Beryl flung a hand over her shoulder as if the idea was just one of the weeds in her garden. “I’ve lived a full life. If anyone is going to attack me, let them. I’ll be fine.”
But Jeremiah shook his head, not yielding this time. “I’m not talking about avoiding gossips. I’m talking about Regulators knocking down your door and arresting you. Or worse. I know you think your Number protects you, but they won’t pay any attention to it if you’re a suspected traitor. Please, Beryl. For me? Please go.”
She dropped her cavalier attitude, and met his eyes solemnly. After a moment’s pause, she nodded once. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
“You worry for nothing,” she argued anyway, despite her agreement. “There won’t be time for them to search out traitors and put them through trial. When you arrive, they won’t know what hit them. By the time they get their act together, you’ll have won.”
“We’ll see.” Jeremiah didn’t want to put ideas in her head. But he didn’t think it would be that easy.
15
A Surprise Discovery
I T WAS NEARLY TWO in the morning when he left Lady Beryl’s with a full stomach and a fresh change of clothes. The blue high-Number clothing disguise felt like second nature to him now, after the last two-plus years of wearing it, but he still kept an eye out for Regulator vehicles and skirted around them when he could. No matter how many forged papers he carried that said he worked for a Number 2, and gave him the right to wear the blue when it didn’t match his Number, it would be far better if he didn’t have to use them.
The walk to the pier took about three hours, and he wanted to make a stop on the way. He and Luc used a little store as a semi-regular hideout to leave messages for each other and catch a few hours of sleep if they had time. He’d left Beryl’s home too late for that nap, but he would still swing through in case Luc had left any info or supplies for him.
Jeremiah was thankful for the full moon, allowing him to see when the night would’ve otherwise been pitch black. Exhaustion made his eyes burn, and he wished for the millionth time that he had a car. But though Lady Beryl would’ve been happy to borrow him one of hers, he couldn’t leave it abandoned at the store when he was out at sea. At least, not without arousing suspicion.
Reaching the front of the little abandoned grocery store, he moved silently, out of habit, opening the sliding glass door without a sound. Stepping noiselessly into the room, he froze.
Someone was there.
There was a dark shadow against the far wall. Keeping still, Jeremiah scanned the room, looking for others. The light of the moon was strong, but the windows of the store were small, and his eyes needed a moment to adjust to the lack of light.
Every muscle in his body drew tight, as he feared the worst. If he ever ran into a Regulator, he was prepared to do whatever he had to do. Hopefully the papers would work, but if it came to a fight, he’d also gained some skills in that area.
But nothing happened.
From where he stood in the doorway, he only saw the one person, and they weren’t moving. Confused, he moved inside, slowly. The shadow on the other side of the room began to take shape. The person was sitting in a chair at an odd angle, facing sideways, leaning against the wa
ll. They seemed unaware of him. He could barely make them out, but as he crept closer he saw it was a woman, and it looked as if her hands were tied.
All his instincts screamed caution. This could be a trap.
On silent feet, he backed outside, prepared to run if necessary. If it was a trap, he wasn’t going to get stuck inside. Closing the sliding door, he ran a quick lap around the building, checking the parking lot first. No hidden Regulator vehicle, but there was a strange car. That could mean anything. He reached the back door without encountering anyone.
It was propped open. Uneasy, he almost turned to leave. Through the opening, the person inside was more visible now. Something about the person’s posture, slumped over, too still, stopped him.
He stepped inside. Keeping a prudent distance away from the girl, he moved to the left, circling the inside of the store next on silent feet, pausing to glance down every aisle, making sure they were empty. Keeping an eye on her, he watched the mirrors along the top of the walls where they met the ceiling, and made it to the opposite side of the store without meeting anyone.
Checking the supply closet and finding it empty, he was finally satisfied no one else was there. The dim light made it difficult to tell any details of the girl in the chair until he drew up next to her. She leaned against the wall, fast asleep, not even stirring as he came to stand in front of her.
To be fair, he had yet to make any noise. She was young and pretty, looking vulnerable as she slept. Studying the chair confirmed his guess that she was tied up. A messy cut on her forehead had bled heavily, leaving a trail of blood down her face that was dry now.
A desire to help her rose uninvited. He wished he’d had the good sense to leave when he first spotted her. Now that he was just a few feet away, her light blue clothing was visible, and he wanted to groan. Why now, Lord?
Just what he needed, a run in with a high Number who would ask too many questions. But his inner voice, always curious, immediately began to wonder what a high Number would be doing out here, in this section of town especially. Alone. Visibly beaten. Most likely robbed.
He had a sudden hunch, and couldn’t help himself. Reaching out with the light touch of a practiced thief, thanks to the years spent in the orphanage, he lifted the scarf around her neck carefully. Softly, so softly, he manipulated the fabric to loosen without her feeling his touch, until he could see the tattoo underneath.
29. He read, confirming his suspicion. She was a low Number. Very, very low. A runaway, he thought, feeling a pang of sympathy, as he pulled the scarf back up over the tattoo.
What to do now? Frustrated, he ran his hands through his short hair. He couldn’t just leave her here.
He studied her. Numbers 29 were viewed by most people as cursed by God. No one wanted to hire them into their homes. Only offered the most severe jobs, they were usually paid too little to afford living on their own, often starving or dying of abuse and mistreatment. He rarely met a 29.
But this girl appeared oddly well-fed. Except for some faded bruises on her face, she looked fairly healthy. Her hair fell soft and straight, just brushing her shoulders, and it had fallen across her face where she leaned against the wall, partially covering her lips. He found himself wanting to push the hair back to see the rest of her face. He wondered who had attacked her and why? He couldn’t piece together a clear background, but overall she appeared markedly better off than any 29 he’d ever met before.
Her arms were thin though, and she looked weak, vulnerable. The fact that she was tied up added to the effect. He couldn’t leave her on her own.
But her light skin was much more visible in the moonlight compared to his dark golden-brown skin, and the shades of blue she wore lighter than his, meaning she would be more noticeable on the streets. He sat in the silence, listening to the distant sound of traffic, picturing the two of them ducking down side streets in the dark.
He kept still, standing in a dark shadow out of the light of the moon, not wanting to wake her. Jeremiah trusted his disguise, and had answers prepared for any questions, with his papers and his carefully crafted story. The issue was wasting time he didn’t have.
Folding his arms, he tapped a finger to his jaw, feeling the stubble forming where he hadn’t shaved since the previous day. He contemplated taking her to Lady Beryl’s. The older woman would instantly take the girl in. But he shook his head. Not enough time to trudge all the way back to her estate, which he had left hours ago, and still make it back to the pier before sunrise. Going back simply wasn’t an option.
One thing was clear from her disguise: she was obviously running away from something, hoping to escape whatever life she currently had. He’d bet his entire savings she planned to board a boat. What she likely didn’t know, however, was that the Regulators hounded the ships that came through this port. Every captain was expected to not only collect his passengers Identity Cards, but to physically check them against the owner’s tattoo.
Jeremiah sighed. If he was right about her goal, he could help her. He was the only ship’s captain in Delmare who didn’t answer to the Regs, and probably the only person who both understood exactly what she was running from, yet also had the power to rescue her from it. He knew Luc would roll his eyes at him for thinking it, but he considered the possibility that God may have put her in his path exactly for that reason.
Keeping silent, he crouched on bent knees, sitting on his heels and resting his head on his hands, knowing he’d made his decision. Without him, she would be caught and imprisoned. Or worse. But how could he make her think coming with him was her idea? There was no guarantee she would want to board his ship. If Jeremiah told her about the work rule, and its purpose, and she said no, he risked exposing their entire mission.
Glancing out the window, he was aware of the time. He stood and took a couple steps back before bending down once more to remain at her eye level. He had no idea how she would react. Better to give her some space.
Hopefully she would be easy to manipulate because he didn’t have a lot of time. Removing all emotion from his face, he cleared his throat.
16
The Rescue
E VALENE DRIFTED AWAKE, BLINKING away the crusty feeling of sleepiness and tears. It was dark. What had woken her? Easing her head away from the wall, she turned to find herself staring into dark brown eyes just a few feet away from her. She gasped.
Evalene jerked back instinctively, causing her injured head to throb in pain. The stranger blinked calmly at her as her heart pounded. Who was he? He crouched on the ground in front of her, and she squinted in the poor lighting to make out details. His dark hair was cut stylishly short, his clothing tailored and rich, and even in the moonlight she could tell the color. Her heart sank. He was dressed in blue.
“Hi there,” he said casually, offering her a smile as if they were old friends.
She swallowed. That’s right, she was also in blue. Remembering Kevra’s suggestion to play a high Number in distress, she managed a weak, “Hello.”
Head full of cobwebs, she tried to sit taller. The sharp headache attacked her skull with renewed force. The adrenaline rushing through her body made her muscles tense, but her brain struggled to keep up, to formulate a plan, or even a full sentence.
He spoke first. “My name is Jeremiah. I won’t hurt you.” He set down his bag and started digging through its pockets. Pulling out a small knife, he stepped towards her. Evalene found it hard to swallow as she stared at the knife and wished she could run.
He paused and held his hands out, palms facing her in a gesture of peace. “It probably doesn’t mean much coming from a stranger, but I’m just here to help. I saw you through the door.” He pointed to where Kevra had left the door cracked. He stepped toward her again, moving slowly as if she was a frightened animal, kneeling beside her. “You looked hurt. I thought you could use some help.”
Evalene didn’t know what to say. Her head ached. This man – Jeremiah – reached behind her to take hold of the rope holding her
to the chair, and began sawing at it with the knife.
A dark blue bandana circled his neck, hiding his exact Number just like her scarf hid hers, but she feared a true high Number would recognize an imposter in an instant. Trying to channel Ruby once more, she lifted her chin, feigning arrogance, and opened her mouth to speak, to say something in response, but fear paralyzed her and her mind went blank.
She turned her head carefully to where he knelt at her right, working on the ropes, and watched in fascination. His caramel-colored skin was darker than her own even when she was her most tan, and while his hands worked deftly to set her free, she was caught up in noticing how calm he was. What must it be like to have the confidence and fearlessness of a high Number?
When the restraints fell off her wrists, Evalene ripped her hands out in front of her, jumping up. The room spun. She worried she might throw up. Reaching out blindly, her hand connected with the wall and she leaned into it gratefully.
She felt him touch her elbow, and jerked away, frightened, groaning as the awful ride of pain started all over again. The helping hand let go and gave her space, but the room continued to spin. Giving up, she leaned further into the wall and sank down until she was sitting on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “It’s – been a rough night.” She rubbed her eyes, feeling awfully scattered, and tried to focus. Jeremiah stood a few steps away, where he’d backed up to give her room. “Thank you for rescuing me. I should get going.” She moved to brace her hands against the floor as if to push off.
Jeremiah knelt in front of her, blocking her path. “You won’t get far in your condition. Why don’t you let me look at that head injury first?” Moving as if she’d already said yes, he reached to gently push her hair back to examine the cut on her forehead. As he did, Evalene touched the back of her head, where the worst of the pain was located, and found a huge, raised bump where she’d been hit. It felt wet. Pulling her hand around, she stared at the blood on her fingers.
Evalene's Number: The Number Series Page 10