“I don’t think it’s that much farther ahead.” He tries to sound convincing, but I can tell he’s not really sure where we are. I hear the uncertainty in his voice. He looks up every now and again to check our position by the placement of the sun, and each time I agree with his coordinates. That’s the good news. The bad news is the sun is now covered by dark, ominous clouds, and we are walking in the deep woods without any sign of shelter. The rain starts coming down steadily, and I pull my jacket up over my head. Not too far ahead, we both see a bolt of lightning strike one of the mountains. I count silently to check how far away the storm is, and I start when I only get to four seconds. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, but I think we’re walking right into it.” I feel my breath growing hurried and shallower. Thanks to the storm, my bravery is wavering.
“I know,” he shouts to be heard above the heavy rainfall. “There’s a break right up there.” He points to a small lean-to that has been formed by some fallen trees. I rally everything I have to rush ahead to our shelter. We fall under the lean-to, and I know we’ve definitely caught a break. We slide out of our packs.
“We’ll be okay here,” he insists, putting his arm around me.
“Okay,” I whisper. Despite everything, I’ve never been good in a storm. A clap of thunder sends a shiver through my body.
“You okay?” he asks and I nod, terrified to even breathe. The rain falls lightly on us through the gaps the trees have allowed at the top of the lean-to. “Are you scared?”
“No,” I whisper, but the tremble in my voice gives me away.
“It’s okay, you know. To be afraid of something. We all are. Want to know what I’m afraid of?” I give him a small smile. He’s doing to me what I do with my girls whenever they’re scared. He’s redirecting my thoughts away from my fear.
“Okay.”
“I’ve never told anyone before.”
“Tell me.” I turn toward him. I close my eyes as the thunderstorm settles right over our heads.
“I’m afraid of losing you,” he confides.
I open my eyes to smile at him.
“And you want more?”
I nod.
“I’m afraid of failing.”
“Because so many people are counting on you?”
“No.” He holds me tighter with each thunder clap. “Because so many others aren’t. Me and my plan, together we’re so inconsequential. But for so many years, I’ve tried to convince people in the city and my fellow rebels that I knew the way—” The loudest clap of all booms right over our heads.
“Oh,” I blurt, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’ve got you.” He kisses me softly on the side of the head. It feels so wonderful I almost forget both storms are raging not so far away.
“So why are you afraid?” I ask, forcing myself to think of something other than the thunder.
“Because a peaceful revolution isn’t sexy. It doesn’t offer enough drama, not like Gunnar and his plans for revenge. A peaceful revolution is a complete gamble. And it’s one I may very well lose.”
“No, you won’t.” There is another loud thunder clap and my stomach muscles clench. Then the storm slowly begins to move, and I relax a tiny bit. As the thunder rolls away, I can look at him and focus on his words. “Something brought us together, and something is watching out for us,” I say. “Call it God or fate or whatever you believe, but there is a reason we are here. Together. Look at this shelter we found in the middle of a thunderstorm. It’s not just chance. By now, my blood should be getting ready for another transfusion into Farnsworth. If we hurry, we can get there right when his entourage is trying to guess what’s happened to him. If we strike during the chaos, we have a chance.”
“Together.”
“Together.” He wraps his hand around mine. He lets go so I can slip my pack onto my back.
“Wait,” he says, “here.” He pulls a can of condensed milk from his bag and pokes two holes in it. “Drink as much as you can.” He holds the can out to me.
“What about you?”
“I can survive on near nothing. But you need nourishment right now.” He pushes the can toward me.
“So split it with me. The food you’ve given me is already more than my body eats in a week.”
“I want you—”
“I’m not drinking unless you drink first.” I cross my arms in front of me and tap my foot, impatiently.
“You are something,” he mumbles, downing half the can. He holds it out to me and I finish it. “Up here.” He stashes the can in his bag and tosses his head in the direction he wants us to go. We walk out into an oppressively hot, wet day.
The rain did nothing to cool it off. Actually, it’s made it worse because of the humidity. We trudge along, wearily. I still can’t trust my body, and my eyes are still seeing random spots and wavy lines. Once in a while, I jump from seeing a snake that doesn’t exist. The hallucinations are the hardest challenge to overcome.
After another few miles, Phoenix points up ahead. “There,” he exclaims, and he picks up his pace. Even with my long legs, I have to run to keep up with him. “There.” Phoenix drops to his knees. I drop down next to him. For whole minutes we are silent, scoping out the small camp ahead of us. I can’t be sure if my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I am certain I see a glimpse of someone in a brown uniform, mulling about.
“Are those—” I mean to ask Phoenix if there’s the possibility there are Harvesters in the camp, but he is staring dead ahead, fixated. Finally, he turns to me.
“Do you trust me?” He looks at me intensely.
“Of course.”
“Good. Then get to your feet.” Phoenix pulls his gun on me.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“If we’re going to get in and out—”
“There are Harvesters in there, Phoenix. I just saw the brown uniform.”
“No way. This has always been a rebel camp I can count on.” He is still pointing the gun at me. “And there are many, too many, rebels just like Gunnar. They’ll never see past who you were.”
“Who I was?”
“I mean who they thought you were.” Phoenix is clearly frustrated. “Please, Ron.”
“Sorry.” We’ve gotten off track, and we’re out of time. “If it’s a rebel camp,” I ask, “then why are there Harvesters? Could they be people who’ve left to join the revolution?”
“No. They have to burn their uniforms when they join.”
“You have yours,” I argue, questioning him.
“That tradition started after me.”
“So if there are friends of Farnsworth in there—you will be killed for capturing me. But if you’re my prisoner, they won’t touch you once I tell them Farnsworth wants you delivered alive. And no one, no one, not a rebel or a government official would kill me. My blood is too valuable. If you become my prisoner”—quickly I take the gun from his hands—“then we stay alive. It’s the only way.” I see him staring at me, wondering what is going to happen. “This is it, Phoenix. Either you trust me or you don’t.”
Slowly, Phoenix turns and raises his arms in the air. He places his hands on his head and begins to walk forward. I am walking behind him, holding a gun to his back. Amazingly, as little as two weeks ago, I would have been thrilled to deliver the leader of the rebels to Farnsworth. I would have considered it my duty and my honor. Phoenix would have been killed for sure, and I would have been given another small plaque to hang on the wall of my cabin. And everything would have gone on as usual until Farnsworth bled. But it’s not two weeks ago. It’s now. And now I had better put on a performance that will save both of our lives.
“Hello,” Phoenix shouts, walking boldly into camp. “It’s Phoenix. I need help.” A few people run back and forth, confused.
“What’s going on here?” a short man with greasy hair and a bulbous nose asks. He holds a shotgun he points at both of us.
“I’m Phoenix, the leader of the Peaceful Revolution. I h
ave been captured by Veronica Billings. I need your help to get to Farnsworth.” The man raises his gun to aim at my head, and I feel myself gasp.
“Wait,” someone orders. It’s a girl who walks out of one of the cabins and directly toward us. She is tall, not as tall as me, but much taller than Gretchen or Margaret. She has long brown wavy hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her face is a perfect heart shape, and her lips are remarkably rosy. She raises her large eyes to look at Phoenix, and their perfect amber color softens when she sees him. She holds up her hand for the greasy man to put down his gun, and he obeys. My eyes travel down her uniform of green fatigues to find she is incredibly curvy in all the right places. She is stunning, and by the looks of it, she knows it. I feel like an absolute child compared to her. In the midst of all of this, my heart falls slightly.
“Phoenix,” she trills, nodding to him.
“Brooke,” he acknowledges her.
I knew they knew each other. I feel the inexplicable urge to poke Phoenix in the back with his gun, but I resist.
“Seems you’ve gotten yourself into quite a pickle.” Brooke smiles a soft, feminine smile. She acts as if I’m not even here, holding a gun to Phoenix’s back. I have never before felt so inconsequential, and it feels awful. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot what must be the motorbikes. I wonder if I can leave Phoenix and Brooke to their reunion and sneak off to grab a bike without them ever noticing. I don’t know why I hate this girl so very much, but now I understand how Phoenix felt when I was playing house with Farnsworth. It feels awful, and all they’ve done is say hello.
“Ms. Billings,” she hisses, finally acknowledging me. “Why don’t we go into my tent and see if we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
“Okay,” Phoenix agrees.
“Okay.” My voice sounds weak and thin. I stumble forward as we walk toward Brooke’s tent. I have to pull myself together, or no one will believe I’m capable of holding Phoenix hostage. I take a deep breath and push my way through the partially opened flap leading into Brooke’s tent. Once we’re inside, I’m dumbfounded. Brooke’s decor looks more like something that belongs in a Coupling house than a rebel base camp in the middle of the woods. She’s hung billowing mosquito netting from the tent poles that make it look nothing short of romantic. Large candles burn on tall tables. One of her ample-sized bras is tossed casually onto a folding chair. It looks more like a seduction scene than a camp.
“Are you kidding me?” I mumble without meaning to.
Phoenix watches me out of the corner of his eye, and I see his lips turn up into the smallest smile.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Brooke offers. Neither Phoenix nor I move. “Come on, Phoenix,” she says, pointedly. “You know your way around.” She smiles when she speaks, and her words fly from her mouth into my mind, forming a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Thank you,” Phoenix snips. “But it’s a little hard to be comfortable with a gun pointed at my back.”
“Ah yes, the gun.” Brooke sits in the chair and leans back against her bra. I hope those ridiculously large cups poke her in the back. “Let’s get past this little charade, shall we?” she asks, smiling at both of us. “Word on the street is that you two are working together.”
“Well, I don’t know where you get your information Brooke,” Phoenix stays remarkably calm while he speaks. “But you’re wrong.”
“You’ve always trusted my sources before,” Brooke teases, making the conversation between them incredibly intimate.
“This time they’re wrong.” He speaks flatly, without a hint of reciprocal flirtation. “I tried to capture Veronica Billings, but instead she captured me. We’ve been traveling for days now. I’m asking you, Brooke, as a friend, to lend us one of your motorbikes, so we can move on to the Inferno. Farnsworth wants her. I don’t know what will happen to me, but she knows I’m more valuable alive than dead.” Brooke breaks out into a high-pitched squeal. She leans forward and rests her hands on her knees, laughing. I think she does it to flash her cleavage at us.
“That’s your story?” Brooke giggles, composing herself. “Really? I don’t expect much better from an uneducated child-killer.” She stands up and walks directly to me. Her words are hard and ugly when she speaks to me. “But you, Phoenix, you could do so much better.” She looks me up and down when she says this. I feel the anger brewing in my stomach and it’s all I can do not to spit in her face. “So,” Brooke stands in front of Phoenix and reaches up to place her hand on the side of his face, “what do you say you and I work on that story. Together.” She strokes his cheek slowly and mechanically. Then she lifts herself to her tiptoes and kisses Phoenix softly on the lips.
That’s it.
“All right,” I snap, aiming the gun away from Phoenix and pointing it at her. “Enough.”
“So the great Veronica Billings does have a breaking point.” She steps back and gives me a wide, victorious smile. “And it looks as if I just found it.”
Crap. I blew it. She knows.
“You probably want to put that gun down, Veronica,” Brooke warns. “All I have to do is whistle and every person in this camp will come on in here to kill you.”
“No one will kill me.” I stand up to her, daring her with my words. “I’m the last remaining O. You know that. Or you should, anyway. Unless you were too busy seducing every stray rebel you could find to get them to join your camp.”
“Oh, let’s not get ugly, shall we Veronica? Oh wait, you can’t help but be ugly.”
“Brooke,” Phoenix snaps, reprimanding her.
“Oh, so the feeling’s mutual, is it?” Brooke saunters past us. “I had always wondered who would win the heart of the great leader of the Peaceful Revolution, Phoenix.” She smiles a big, beautiful smile. “It doesn’t matter, you know.” She talks directly to me. “Whatever he tells you, he will never love you like he loves that revolution.” She tosses her hands in the air and makes a grand gesture. “There’s a finite amount of love in that boy. And he sure as hell isn’t going to waste it on you, you overgrown baby-killer.”
“I am not, and never have been a baby—or a child—killer.”
“Ron—” Phoenix interjects but I cut him off.
“I was misguided, yes,” I finish my thought. “But all I want now is the same thing as you. I have three little girls who are in my care who have been taken by Farnsworth. Give us a bike and let us go get them.”
“Why would I do that?” Brooke asks.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Brooke laughs again, but this time not as loud.
“I’m sorry for those three girls,” she concedes. “But we’re close now. Farnsworth’s weak, and we have a way in. There’s no way I’m going to let three little girls stop our planned revolution. There just have to be some casualties.”
Something tells me to keep quiet about Gunnar and his march on the Inferno.
“So you won’t let anything sway you from your job—a job you believe in?”
“Exactly,” Brooke snarls.
“Well, you sound remarkably like the person you accused me of being,” I say as she takes a step back from me. “Except I didn’t know what was happening to the girls I led to the Lettings. You, on the other hand, are perfectly happy sending three little girls to their deaths. Brooke, despite your outward appearance, I would say that makes you the ugly one.”
“And so we reach a stalemate,” Brooke states flatly.
“I could just kill you and be done with it.” I still have my gun pointed at her.
“Really?” Brooke asks, her large eyes widening. “But there are a couple of problems with that. First, as soon as my camp hears a gunshot, they’ll come running. And when they see me dead, they’ll kill you. They wouldn’t care if your blood was pure gold.”
“It is.”
“Second,” Brooke continues without missing a beat. “Second, you’re not a killer. Or so you say.”
“Not a child killer. I have no problem with an overin
flated old woman.”
“Tsk, tsk, an old woman at twenty-one, huh?” she smiles again. “Maybe so. But lastly, he won’t let you kill me.” She points at Phoenix. “We have too much history, don’t we Phoenix?”
“What Veronica does is not up to me,” Phoenix states definitively, clenching his jaw.
“Oh, I see...How incredibly weak of you. Not your best quality I must say.”
“So, what’s going to happen, Brooke?” Phoenix asks.
“Well, I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?” She bats her eyes at Phoenix. “You two stay the night with me here at my camp, as guests, and tomorrow morning I’ll give you a bike to go save your precious little girls.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask.
“Because in exchange, I get what I want from Phoenix.”
“And what’s that?” he asks.
“You know.” Brooke pats his arm.
“Not going to happen, Brooke,” he responds.
“Stay with me tonight for old times’ sake. I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she lets her fingers walk up his forearm. “Though if memory serves, there’s nothing you don’t want to do.”
“Brooke, that’s enough! Why would you want that?” he asks, genuinely confused.
“Because I want her to ache.” Brooke looks at me.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I had a beautiful life built on destroying you,” she explains, looking directly at me. “Then one day I realized his obsession was no longer based on hatred. And he threw me aside to go find you.”
“That’s not what happened,” Phoenix corrects.
“Your life can’t be beautiful if it’s built on hatred,” I say. “Don’t you get that?”
“What I get,” she snaps, “is what I want. Or I kill him. And turn you over to Farnsworth. Simple.” She is right. It is simple. This was the one scenario we didn’t plan for: traitorous rebels.
“Fine,” Phoenix spits.
“What?” Brooke sounds surprised.
The Letting Page 21