Taggert seems impressed with the sketches. I’ve been studying the top ten “most wanted” of the drifters for quite a while, back from when we began studying them before the first time we observed interrogations. Taggert seems to think that somehow if we could get all ten, plucking them off one at a time and taking down their evil leadership, the drifters would basically implode and have no other choice but to turn to us for refuge.
Of course, the ones at the top of that list aren’t in Samson’s sketches because Samson knows that they are hard to get to. Those men are too busy, oh you know, trying to destroy our very existence. They don’t have time for such frivolities. And apparently, they split themselves into a bunch of different compounds anyway, so they are never all together. Smart.
So we can’t take down all ten in one swoop, but the two men Samson can get us seem to have Taggert excited nonetheless. It feels like the drifters are always the ones infiltrating us, so it feels good to finally be doing something back for a change, something offensive instead of defensive. We can’t take them all down, but we can start one compound at a time. We can send a message that we aren’t going to go quietly into the night.
The tablet Samson will use is small, almost like an old cell phone. It has a fancy solar-powered wireless internet connection, which will allow Samson to email us. We would like for him to email daily, but we know at first he may not be able to communicate much. The tablet is small so he can keep it hidden. Jaden even has a secret compartment to put it in Samson’s boot heel, which will allow him to have it on him, but not get caught with it. It also has a GPS tracker, so we know where Samson is if we were to go a week without hearing from him. Though we haven’t told him this upfront, I’m sure Samson suspects it anyway.
The tablet will be the only thing on Samson connecting him to us, so of course we have to take precautions. All talk of other monitors or wires for this mission was shot down as they were too risky with his getting caught. Grady will have a monitor on his watch though, and we are hoping they are so distracted by his presence that they don’t check him thoroughly. If one of them were to get caught with a monitor, it needs to be Grady since he is the one who won’t be staying long… or so we hope.
So Tuesday is wrapped up in all the dirty details of “Red Hawk”. Lots of discussion with Samson about which drifters to focus on and what will actually happen when they leave here and get to there. Wherever there is. All I know is that it will take them just under three days to get to a drifter watch camp, and then they will take them by vehicle to the real camp, one of the many. For those three days, Grady and Samson will have very little food and water because they want it to look as realistic as possible when they arrive.
At the four-hour mark of sitting in the interrogation room, Sarge’s radio goes off. I don’t think anything of it because Taggert and I are discussing the safety of Grady with Samson and all the other unknowns of once they arrive.
“Ms. Scott, Lyncoln is outside for you,” Sarge says kindly as he interrupts us.
“Can you tell him I’ll be there in a little bit?” I offer.
He chuckles. “He said you would say that and also said you are eating lunch if he has to drag you out of here himself.”
I roll my eyes. Taggert and Samson both smile.
“Well, don’t keep the man waiting,” Samson smiles then nods to me reassuringly. “I think I will be okay on my own with Admiral Taggert for now.”
I dismiss myself and leave to find Lyncoln sitting there with lunch in the control room.
“Hey.”
“Hey, gorgeous.” He gives me the half-smile. “Look, I know you’re busy and will be all week, but if you don’t eat you’ll never be able to make it through all the stress. Trust me on this one, Regs. Eat.”
I can’t really argue with that and he almost asked me to instead of commanding me to. Now that I’m out here and the smell of the food hits me, I really am starving since it’s way past lunch. It would be just like Lyncoln to make sure I eat, and just like me to make sure I’m so busy I can’t think about the first vote and what will or won’t happen.
“Besides,” he adds, “Friday we will have big speeches to make as a final three couple. I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for that.”
“Don’t remind me,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.
If. If we make it to the final three, if not we will be giving our farewell speeches. All sorts of ifs! Everyone seems to think we have a shot but me. Yes, the votes from Elizabeth and Maverick in Denver will help, but is it really enough? We were the underdogs going into the tours, so I refuse to get my hopes up otherwise.
“Regs, please stop worrying. Whatever happens, we will figure it out,” Lyncoln says softly as if he can read my mind.
I take a bite of my sandwich and smile at Lyncoln in appreciation of his thoughtfulness. How did he know ham and cheese sandwiches are my favorite? And this sandwich is a double-decker masterpiece. There is so much meat, cheese, and vegetables, it feels like a full coursed meal.
After a few minutes of silent eating, I sigh. “So what have you been up to today?” I wonder if this is what it would be like to be married to him all, “Hi dear, how was your day?”
“Working on recon and training the team,” he says while looking at his sandwich.
The team will leave when Samson and Grady do, though keeping a safe distance behind in two land rovers. With the tracker in Samson’s phone and the use of the drones, they will be right there with them the whole way but completely out of sight. They wouldn’t even have to leave at the same time as Samson and Grady, but they are going to so they are there if any funny business happens.
“Mostly snipers?” I ask. I know there is a group of ten going.
“About half and half,” he shrugs.
So half snipers and half combat.
Just then Jaden arrives. “Oh good, Ms. Scott. I’m on my way in to train Samson on terminology for the emailing. Is there something you would like your code name to be?”
“Ummm…” I think. “It needs to be a man’s name I’m assuming?”
“Either or. Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “They’ll know they aren’t real names anyway. Taggert is Winston.”
“Claudette,” Lyncoln offers.
I laugh. “Really?”
“Well, you seemed to like it before. Plus, then Claudette and Winston sound like an old married couple.” He smiles, and Jaden does too.
I shake my head. “You people need to come up with some better naming skills.”
“Can you be in there in ten minutes?” Jaden asks, still smiling. “I would like for you to hear most it since you and Taggert will be on the receiving end of the emails. I know you already know most of this, but it still might be a good idea. Obviously they will know he is communicating with us if he is found out or if the tablet is, so there is no need for code or anything, but it’s just the basics of what you can and can’t say.”
“Give me five,” I offer.
“Sweet,” he nods, and in his very nerdy way, pushes up his glasses before entering the interrogation room.
I finish my sandwich and start on my cookie after taking a drink of my iced tea, which I’m glad is in a bottle I can take with me. “Sorry I can’t stay longer,” I offer.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you could grab a bite to eat. I am ready to get this next week over with,” he offers. “I miss you.”
I nod in agreement. “I miss you too.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back to work.
In seven days’ time, by next Tuesday, we will know first and foremost if we make this next cut in the Culling. Also by then, the team with Grady should be returning, hopefully sometime on Monday. Ideally, by that point I should be getting intel from Samson at the drifter camp, two or three drifter leaders will be taken down, and Grady and the team will have come home unscathed. Then maybe we can start focusing on the Hadenfelts.
But let’s be real. The chances of all those things coming t
ogether that perfectly are slim to none. In one week, will I be responsible for Grady or someone on the team having lost their life? Will I have more blood on my hands, and this time someone’s from my own side? Will I be out of the Culling?
****
Having showered up and changed into pajamas later that evening, I hear a knock on my door. Expecting Lyncoln, I’m surprised to see Sarge. He has a tray of some peanut butter cookies and milk and brings them in my room, setting them down. He then reaches his hand out to shake my hand. I do so with a bewildered look on my face, I’m sure.
“Will that be all, Ms. Scott?” He says it weird-like.
Before I can ask him what’s wrong and why he is acting so weird, I feel a piece of paper in my hand.
“Uhhh. Yep,” is all I can manage. I didn’t order these cookies. And why did he just slip me some paper? What the heck is going on?
“Enjoy your bath,” he offers and then leaves.
I clearly already have wet hair and just took a shower. Okay, so I am supposed to read this in my bathroom?
My room has been partially cleared for monitors, but not fully. Apparently my bathroom is safe though. I first ditch my watch on my nightstand and head to the bathroom to read this piece of paper. Unfolding it, I see elegant handwriting and know immediately who the sender of this is.
Reagan,
I miss you. More than you can fathom. I am also proud of you and what you’ve been accomplishing these last weeks. You are still the woman my mom described, and I want you to know that.
I am writing you now in a time of torment. I’m supposed to propose to Marisol after this first vote. I don’t want to, but your proposal video is going to get you guys a lot of votes, votes that she wants. I told her I wanted more time because I want to trust her and that she won’t just do everything her father says when we win. Of course, I don’t want to win… with her anyway. However, when I talk to her about her dad, I can tell she is on edge. I think he might be violent towards her. It was rumored he was with his late wife. And I don’t think she knows what all went down with Isabella. None of that excuses her, but she might not be quite as heartless as we all once imagined. I feel a little bad for her at times. Then again, she may be brainwashing me. I can’t even talk to my two best friends because of her.
It still kills me a little seeing you so happy with Lyncoln. But, as time goes on, it hurts a little less. I want you happy and he’s a great man. He is deserving of you.
I’m sometimes just so bogged down by all these emotions as I act the part of Hadenfelts’ puppet. Days like this are hard. I have to make a public proposal to Marisol. I have to pretend to love her at the same time I pretend I don’t still love you.
But, as I write this, I imagine being able to come to your room like I used to and we would just talk about our day. It helps. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more about the relationship between Marisol and her dad. Give the cookies to Lyncoln. I know they’re his favorite. We once ate an entire batch, just the two of us.
Sorry this is long, I am a wannabe zombie-literature writer after all.
With love,
Henry
I have tears running down my cheeks by the time I finish reading. I’ve been so busy worrying about how to fix everything, I have barely been thinking about Henry and how he must be doing. Of course he is a wreck. I try to imagine how I would feel if Lyncoln was with someone else and I had to pretend to love someone else.
Wow. How horrible of a person am I? I’m glad he wrote to me like I told him to, it just wasn’t what I was expecting. I don’t like being reminded of the position he’s in because it reminds me that I caused it.
Lyncoln knocks (for once) and enters shortly after, finding me still crying on the bathroom floor.
“Regs.” He rushes over to me and looks panicked. “What is it?”
“Here,” I hand him the letter immediately. Yeah, Henry basically says he still loves me in it, but in order to tell him how I feel, he might as well just read it. Plus, we don’t need another secret to come between us. Henry knew Lyncoln might be here when he sent it which is why he sent his favorite cookies.
He sits down beside me on the bathroom floor, his long legs stretched out before him. He reads quietly and his brows furrow. When he’s done, he looks at me with those vulnerable blue-brown eyes I’d do anything for. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head no. “But not for the reasons you think.”
“What do you mean?” He moves his massive body in front of me to wipe away my tears.
I stop to sniffle and try to rein in the ugly monstrosities, “I don’t at all care that he’s proposing. I mean, I hate that it’s her and he doesn’t even like her, but I don’t care about the votes. And although his saying he still loves me is nice for my ego, I don’t care about that either. I know those are the things you would worry about.” I pause to breathe. “I’m crying because I do love and miss Henry. He is our best friend. I feel bad for him. We get to be happy and shove it in his face while he has to be their slave in protecting us. All because I was too chicken to make my decision until the last minute. It just isn’t fair.” Frustrated tears keep rolling out of my eyes. “There’s just so much going on. It’s so out of control. It’s too much.”
Without another word, he picks me up and tucks me into my bed, shutting off the lights as he goes. He puts me in the sheets, and then crawls on top of the blankets and wraps me in his arms.
“It will be okay, Reagan. We will get him back. We will get Henry back,” he assures me as he runs his fingers through my hair and tucks me into his chest.
I sigh, trying to calm down and match my shaky breathing with his. “Okay.”
“We won’t forget about him. We will get him out of there. Just give it time. One day at a time. For everything.”
“Okay,” repeat. Although his words are just words, his velvety voice is oddly soothing. I realize how exhausted I feel and how warm and cozy he is.
“I’m setting an alarm. I know you need to sleep, but I just want to hold you for a while. I will get up and go when the alarm goes off,” he offers.
“Sounds perfect.”
We just lay there, me under the covers and in his arms. In five minutes, I have completely relaxed and calmed down. What will it be like to be married and get to do this every night? Sometimes I just can’t wrap my head around it. It seems like a dream. Like a dream that you wake up from and want to hold on to, but the details don’t stick and it gets fuzzier the longer you are in reality. A dream so far off in the distance that I will never actually get there to see it come to life.
“Yours,” I mumble sleepily and finally close my eyes and give into the tiredness.
“Mine,” he whispers in my ear and kisses my forehead.
Any other day this would have resulted in a major kissing session, but not tonight. Tonight, we are content to just hold one another and hope for better days. And the end to this dreadful week.
****
The next morning, I write Henry back a quick note.
Henry,
Whatever else you hear, I am fine. Specifically tomorrow morning. I am fine! Hang in there. We haven’t forgotten about you. We miss you. I can’t imagine how you must feel. Just hang in.
Reagan
I keep it short and sweet, partially because I don’t know what to say, and mostly because I don’t know what to say that won’t lead him on. I don’t know how to be an ex-girlfriend because until this silly Culling I had never even been a girlfriend.
How do you go from being romantically involved to being strictly friends while still maintaining that friendship? I don’t know what to do here. I’m already engaged to his best friend for crap’s sake.
I finish getting ready for DIA and then give the letter to Jamie, shaking his hand in the same way that Sarge did to me the night before. Jamie gives me a nod and I know he knows exactly what to do with my letter. When it will actually get to Henry, I’m not sure, but Jamie will get it done. I have no
doubt.
“Lyncoln?” I ask Jamie in the elevator.
“Already there,” Jamie responds with a smile. He knew I was asking if Lyncoln was riding with us or was already there. I figured that was the case, but I had to ask anyway.
“Thanks,” I say as we head for the vehicle waiting.
I wonder how many SUVs make the short trip between DIA and Mile High each day. At least four or five since all the candidates have been going to DIA these last few days. It’s too bad we couldn’t just stay there. There are a few rooms at DIA similar to our rooms at Mile High, but not enough for all of us. So back and forth it is.
As we settle in with Jamie sitting passenger and our usual driver driving, I can’t handle the silence. The silence makes me think. Thinking makes me think of all the things that are about to go wrong with this plan. Thinking makes me think of what would happen if we did lose this first vote and I didn’t get to see my family anymore. Thinking reminds me of the Hadenfelts and their poison to our country.
Thinking sucks. Freaking Hadenfelts.
“Your brother is doing amazing, Jamie,” I compliment him, finally giving in to the urge to talk so I quit getting depressed in my thoughts.
“Thanks. He’s a bit out there,” he shrugs with a laugh.
“But at least he’s on the right side,” I say honestly. I know they’re complete opposites, but both are good people in my book.
Jamie laughs. “Only because he’s afraid of Taggert.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Jamie and the driver both smile.
I ask them more questions about how their families are doing and what they will do when the Culling is over. I like hearing about their lives, which seem to be much less messed up in comparison to mine. Before I know it, we are at DIA and it is back to work we go.
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 23