by James Hunt
“You can’t!” Zack’s throat cracked at the sudden burst of volume in his voice, his scream just as shocking and violent as the explosion she’d heard the night before. The outburst sapped his strength as he hung from the two crutches like a lifeboat. “They’re dead,” he said between sobs. “They’re dead because of me.”
Wren placed a gentle hand on the back of her son’s head. “Zack, what happened last night isn’t your fault, it’s—”
“No,” he said, sniffling. “It’s not from last night. My friends. In Chicago.” He looked up, and even in the darkness, Wren saw the tears running down his cheeks. “My friends are dead because of me.” He collapsed forward, leaning all of his weight into Wren, who was caught off balance by the sudden fall.
Wren pulled his head up, wiping the tears from his eyes. Her heart broke in two as she watched her eldest fall apart in her arms. She helped him over to a log, where the two sat down, his head leaning against her shoulder as she gently stroked his hair. They’d never spoke about what happened at the abandoned factory she pulled him out of before they escaped the city. “What happened at the factory, Zack?”
He took a few deep breaths, trying to force his composure, but struggled with finding any strength in his voice. “It wasn’t the first time,” he started, pulling up from her shoulder, wiping his nose with his shirt sleeve. “We’d gone there before. The place was shut down a long time ago.” He shook his head. “It was stupid, I know. The day of the attacks, we had talked about going, but some of my friends had a test they said they didn’t want to miss. They wanted to stay. But I made them go. I told them that the class was a waste of time, that one test wouldn’t flunk them out. So they went. We took Jesse’s car, since he was the only one with a driver’s license. When we got there, everything was fine. We were just hanging out, joking around like we always did. It was getting later in the afternoon, and they wanted to get going, since school was letting out soon, but I told them to lighten up.” Zack grimaced, the tears returning unabashedly. “And then the explosions went off. It was like bombs were dropping all around us, and I knew it was down the street, but the building and the equipment inside were so old that I guess all it took was a light tremor to bring most of it down. Everyone was screaming, running, trying to get away. I turned around and saw them reach out their hands for help just before the vats crushed them, then my leg.” Zack uttered a few more words, but he was so distraught that Wren couldn’t decipher what he said.
Wren cupped her son’s face in her hands, pulling him up from the despair he was sinking into. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. What happened in Chicago was not your fault. Your friends being with you in that warehouse was not your fault. Some sick people with a twisted agenda killed them.” She lifted his chin, looking him directly in the eye. “Your friends did not die because you skipped school, or because you convinced them to come with you, or because you told them to stay. They died because of murderous thugs. You had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
Zack nearly broke down again then and there. He nodded quickly, trying to hold tightly to the pillar of strength she offered him. He wiped his eyes and his nose. “I still have nightmares about them. About that day. I can see them. I hear them. Every night. No matter what. They always find me.”
Wren heard the torment in her son’s voice as he gazed off into the night, looking as though the ghosts of his friends would pop out from behind the trees. She thought about all of the death she’d seen and looked down to the bloodstained pants she still wore from the night before. She wondered if the boy’s face would haunt her tonight. “It will get better, Zack. It’s just going to take time. And you’re going to have to talk about it. The more you keep it bottled up, the more you’re afraid to talk about it, the more it will control you.” She placed her hand on his back. “There is no shame in being the survivor. God knows I’m glad you are.”
Zack offered another light nod, accompanied by a sniffle. “Yeah, I know.” He reached for his crutches, and Wren helped him off the log. “I’m sorry, Mom. For, well, me.”
“It’s all right.” Wren took him in her arms, thankful he had finally let her inside. “Remember that I love you. And I will always love you no matter what. Never think you can’t talk to me about what you’re going through. No matter how bad or evil you think it is, okay?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Just the sound of his voice was enough to lift her spirits, let alone the thank you. She squeezed him tightly one more time and threw her arm around his shoulder as they walked back to Nate’s cabin. “Did you eat anything today?”
“I had some lunch.”
Wren patted his back. “We’ll head back over to the mess hall, see if there’s anything left from dinner.” They had just stepped out of the thickest portion of the forest when Edric blocked their path. Wren instinctively stepped in front of her son, spreading her arms out to cover as much of him as she could. She looked for a weapon on him, but it was hard to see in the darkness. He said nothing at first, just stood there, silent, menacing. Does he mean to do it here? Kill me in front of my own son?
“I need to speak with you,” Edric said, his voice as deadly quiet as the woods behind them. “Send your son to the house. It’s a conversation I wish to have in private.”
Wren looked around to see if any of his goons had followed him, but when she saw nothing in the clearing before them but Nate’s house, she nodded to Zack. “Go on. I’ll only be a minute.” The two of them remained quiet as Zack hobbled away, and it wasn’t until her son was in the house that Edric finally broke his silence.
“I just had an interesting meeting with the council.” Edric stepped around her, keeping his hands behind his back. “Was the death toll last night not enough for you? Do you wish for more of our community members to die, risking their lives only to make another pathetic wall?”
“The wall I inherited was already pathetic,” Wren said. “I did what I could with what I had.” She took an aggressive step forward. “If you want to keep the community safe, then I know what we have to do. And taking the risk to find better materials to reinforce our defenses is the only way it can be done.”
Edric studied her in the darkness for a long time. And while she couldn’t see his eyes, she felt the cold rush his gaze cast over her body. And despite Wren’s attempt at courage, in that moment she knew he could see her tremble in the night air. “You are right about one thing, Burton. It is the only way it can be done. I suggest you get a good night’s rest. We leave first thing in the morning.” He turned swiftly on his heel and disappeared.
Wren exhaled and made her way back to the cabin. But despite Edric’s advice, she knew that tonight’s sleep would be just as restless as the one before it.
Chapter 10
Wren spent most of her morning staring at the girls as they slept under their blankets. She wanted to wake them, pull them from bed, and squeeze them tight until they pushed her away. But in the morning light, they looked so peaceful she couldn’t bring herself to disturb their slumber.
Zack was awake by the time she left, and she nearly broke down when he told her he loved her, but forced back the tears. None of them knew what she was being sent out to accomplish, and if the plan worked, none of them ever would. She didn’t see Doug, but after their exchange the other day, she found herself disappointed with how they separated. Whatever their marriage used to be, it saddened her to know it was no longer worth saving, to either of them. But as morose as the outcome was, the closure offered her some peace.
Before the teams chosen for the run departed, Iris made sure to point out which of the scouts were on their side. The numbers were at least even between Iris’s people and Edric’s, though she found it odd that Councilwoman Jan was staying behind. Lately, the two had been inseparable. And Councilman Ted was nowhere to be found. Though Wren was thankful to have some familiarity in Tom, her foreman on the wall. Iris offered a hug before Wren joined the rest of the team in the back of the truck an
d whispered in her ear, “Tom will give the signal when it’s time. When he says ‘it’s getting late,’ that’s when it’ll start.”
They took two vehicles, the mixture of Iris’s men and Edric’s men spread out between the trucks evenly. The ride in the back of the truck was rough, and for each dip and bump, Wren’s knuckles flashed white against the black rifle in her hands. The weapon felt thick and bulky, but she kept the rifle tight against her body. She rode in the same truck as Edric, something she couldn’t avoid, as he didn’t pick a vehicle until she had already chosen hers. She kept a watchful eye on him from her position, but he offered no movement or hint as to his actions. Whenever a moment of doubt or fear crept into Wren’s mind, she clung to the consequences of her failure. If Edric survived, then her family would be the first to die. She knew the bastard would do it out of spite, maybe even drag her along to watch if she was still alive afterward.
Another path came into view up the road, and the lead truck veered onto it. When Wren felt them slow and follow, and the icy grip of panic took hold of her heart. “What’s going on? The town is to the east. That’ll take us north.”
Tom banged on the window to the truck’s cab, and Edric turned around, sliding the dirty glass window open. “Where are we going? The town’s in the other direction.”
“A little detour,” Edric yelled above the howl of wind and the hum of the truck’s engine. “We’re stopping at one of the food caches. With the increased number of the attacks over the past few weeks, we didn’t want to risk missing an opportunity to grab it.” He looked to Wren. “Better safe than sorry.” He slammed the window shut, and Wren jolted from another bump in the road.
They traveled for another twenty minutes. When the truck came to a stop, she jumped out eagerly, the butt of her rifle pulled tight in the crook of her arm. She watched Edric exit the truck, but he never even looked her way, and neither did his men. Wren tugged on Tom’s sleeve as they hung back. “Is there really a food cache out here?”
“Yeah,” Tom answered. He shook his head uneasily, his motions as angular as the square jaw that encased his face. “But I don’t like the change in plans.”
Some of the men carried shovels, and Wren watched Edric examine the trees, leaning in close to their trunks, looking for something. “All right. Should be just… about… here.” He stopped, looking straight down, smiling. “Jackpot.” His men dug up the earth where he planted his foot, and the crater grew deep quickly.
Wren watched Edric carefully. She watched his eyes, his hands, his feet, arms, legs, neck. She looked for any inkling or the slightest hint of trickery. But the one time he locked eyes with Wren, all he offered was a smile.
One of the diggers struck a crate, and the men lifted the sealed boxes and bags of food to the edge of the hole until the pile stood as tall as Wren and six feet wide. Everyone grabbed a box and loaded the truck, piling the rations in the bed.
When the last box was shoved into place, everyone dusted off their hands and tossed the shovels in with their bounty. Edric looked into the sky, smearing some of the dirt from his hand onto his forehead as he wiped his brow, and when he looked Wren in the eyes, the same rush of cold that she felt upon their first encounter shivered up her spine. A smile burst onto Edric’s lips as the next words from his mouth sounded like he spoke them in slow motion. “Looks like it’s getting late.”
It took Wren half a second too long for the words to process, and by the time she realized what happened, gunfire erupted. She raised her rifle, nearly dropping the weapon in the process as she shuffled her feet backward. Her shaking finger found the trigger and squeezed. Her eyes shut involuntarily from the rifle’s kickback, and she had no idea of the projection of her bullet. Her back slammed against a tree, and she grasped the trunk, pulling herself behind it for cover. She tilted her head out from behind the grooved bark and saw both sides had separated, and Edric’s men had the trucks.
Bullets struck the tree, and Wren jerked back behind the safety of the thick trunk. The rifle rattled in her shaky arms, and though she wanted to shut her eyes again, she forced them open. Her breath was labored and quick as she looked left and saw one of Iris’s guys a few trees down. The sight of allies caused her to grow bolder. She wasn’t alone. Not yet.
“Wren!” Tom waved his arms from behind a small embankment between a cluster of trees to get her attention. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Wren gripped the rifle a little more firmly as the beacon of strength in her voice spread to the rest of her body. She tucked the weapon’s stock back under her arm, the thunder of gunshots no longer causing her to flinch.
Tom ducked from a round of bullets that sent a spray of dirt over his back. “Just stay there!” He jumped to his feet, shell casings ejecting from the rifle as he returned fire, then pressed forward.
Wren inched her way around the trunk, the gun in her hands poised to shoot. She felt her muscles coil and harden with every step. Just before she completely removed herself from the cover of the tree, she paused, and her heart rate spiked, the muscles along her face twitching with adrenaline. If I die, then my family dies. She clung to that thought like a war cry and jumped from behind the tree, firing into a cluster of Edric’s men near the tailgate of one of the trucks.
Combat washed over her in a blur. All Wren felt was the steady thump of the rifle’s butt against her shoulder and the smooth, hot metal of the trigger against her fingertip. Her legs and feet numbed to the ground beneath her, and after the first round of gunshot blasts all she heard was a high-pitched din that silenced the sounds of death filling the afternoon air.
Edric’s men scattered from the truck, and despite the vulnerability of her position in open space, she continued to push forward. The fear in the pit of her stomach churned into rage with every squeeze of the trigger. The heat from the rifle flushed hot against her arm, and she felt her cheeks redden from the mixture of sun, adrenaline, and fury.
Wren glanced to her right. Only a few of Tom’s men remained in pursuit. The gunfire thickened, and Wren sprinted to a cluster of rocks on her left for cover. The dead foliage was still slick from the previous day’s rains. She slipped on the rock and smacked her elbow hard on a stone upon landing. The pain numbed her limb all the way to her shoulder, but the ricochet of bullets on the other side of the rock offered the incentive to push through the pain.
One of Tom’s guys had sought cover behind the rocks as well, but found no such asylum as Wren shoved the corpse aside to make room for herself. She turned to fire, but the magazine was empty. She threw it on the ground, grabbing the dead man’s rifle to replace her own. The high-pitched din had faded, and in its place the screams of dying men filled her ears. She crawled to the top of the rock cluster to get a better view, but when she crested the top, the landscape had grown still and quiet. No bullets. No screams. Nothing, except:
“Wren!” Edric’s voice roared louder than any of the previous gunshots, shattering the ice-like calm that had descended on their battle. “Give it up. It’s no use trying to win this. You’ll just make things worse.”
Wren’s voice caught in her throat as she looked to the facedown man next to her and the bloody gunshot exit wound on the back of his skull. She swallowed hard, her palms fused to the rifle. “The only thing that’ll make my life worse is one more second of you being alive, Edric.” She shimmied along the rocks, doing her best to stay low and quiet.
“I have two of your men,” Edric replied. “The rest are dead. You want these two to live, you come out right now. I’m only going to offer this once.”
Wren slowly lifted her head above the rocks for a better view. Tom and another one of their guys were on their knees with their hands on their heads. “Let them go!”
“Only if you give yourself up quietly.” Edric placed the barrel of his pistol on the back of the man kneeling next to Tom. “And quickly.”
“Don’t do it, Wren!” Tom yelled. “He’ll just kill you too!”
“Shut up!”
Eric said, pistol whipping Tom. “No more games, Burton! You come out now.”
“The moment I step out, yo—” Wren ducked involuntarily from the gunshot, and her body trembled long after the ringing in her ears subsided.
“That’s one dead,” Edric said. “You want more blood on your hands?”
Wren peered through a crack in the rocks and saw Tom still on his knees with his dead comrade facedown in the dirt on his left. She looked around, searching for anything or anyone that could help, but she was on an island, alone. Tom was right, the moment she gave herself up she’d be dead, and Tom with her. And if she died, her family wouldn’t be far behind. Her veins boiled with rage, and she smacked the back of her head against one of the rocks in frustration. “You won’t win, Edric. You hear me? This will solve noth—”
The gunshot silenced Wren’s voice, the forest, and everyone around her. It shook loose the sanity in her mind. Her grip loosened on the firm foundation of reality, and she felt herself slowly drift into chaos. Possessed by nothing more than the urge to kill, she jumped from the rocks, firing wildly into Edric’s men. Two quickly went down as she sprinted forward, her finger glued to the trigger. She didn’t stop running when the magazine emptied, nor did she stop thrashing against one of Edric’s men when he slammed her up against the truck. The rage in her blood boiled so hot that she was deaf to her own screams, which she was only aware of because of the hoarse pain in her throat. The next few minutes were nothing but a white-hot flash of anger, but when it finally subsided, she found herself in the back of a truck, her wrists and ankles bound together, and Edric sitting directly across from her.
“You trusted the wrong people, Burton,” Edric said, his body wobbling back and forth with the turn of each bend on the dirt road. “If you had just done what you were told in the beginning, listened to me, then all of this blood wouldn’t be on your hands.”