“No,” I said, my voice low. “It’s not there. I searched the entire area.”
Dean swore. “I don’t understand where it could’ve gone.”
I failed to see the great mystery here. The answer was obvious. “Dean, they probably took it. This was a raid, right? They stole the most valuable things in the camp. I’m amazed they didn’t plunder the armory, too.”
“No, that doesn’t make sense. Few people even know that we had JM-104. I don’t tell everyone about it because of stuff like this. Your brother doesn’t know, for example. The Westerners couldn’t have known we had it.”
I shook my head. “But they knew where Liberty was. They brought enough trucks to take nearly everyone here, so they knew how many people we had. Obviously, they have some kind of intelligence network. If they knew that, we have to assume they knew about the JM-104.”
There was a long pause. “Are you suggesting espionage?” Ken asked. “I trust everyone here.”
I took a deep breath. “The way I see it, the JM-104 was taken even though it was a secret, and the Westerners knew where this place was and how many people were here, even though Liberty is secret. It might be time to consider that you have a leak, or possibly even a mole. Goodness knows the Westerners are desperate enough to plant one.”
The three of us gazed at the gathered Sentinels, who were sitting and talking quietly throughout the armory. I knew that Dean and Ken were thinking what I was thinking—that any of them could’ve been the leak, and there was no way to know who.
Except there was.
“Ember will find out,” I said. “If we can get Christiana away from Ember, we can use telepathy to pick the minds of everyone here and find out who the leak is.”
“I hate the prospect of invading my men’s privacy like that,” Dean said. “But that is a good idea.”
“Back off, Judd!”
My brother’s furious yell echoed around the armory. All heads turned toward Gregory and Judd in the far corner, who were facing each other with clenched fists.
“No! It’s your fault they got so many people! If you’d actually been where you were supposed to be that night—”
“The building was on fire, idiot! What the hell was I supposed to do?”
I walked toward Gregory and Judd. “What’s going on here?”
“Oh, great, the clearing barrel is here to lecture us,” Judd said, rolling his eyes. “What are you going to do, tell me I violated some principle?”
People began to gather around at a safe distance.
I crossed my arms but kept my face blank. “Is it the Sentinel way to make ridiculous accusations about your comrades?” I looked at Gregory. “I’m glad you didn’t die. I wouldn’t have wanted that.”
“I don’t care what you want,” Gregory said. “Go away. This has nothing to do with you.”
My chest throbbed, but I shrugged. “You’re my brother. If someone is yelling at you and accusing you of—”
“This has nothing to do with you, Jill! Just get out of my face!”
There was a beat.
“Fine. See you around, Gregory.”
I turned away to go back to Dean and Ken. Under his breath, Judd muttered a slur that even I never used.
I whirled around. “What did you just call me?”
“You heard me,” he mumbled. “Nobody wants you and your team here. Just do us all a favor and go back to whatever ghetto city you came from and leave us to do the real work.”
I opened my mouth to call him a particularly nasty name in return.
Judd drew his handgun and pointed it at me.
For a fraction of a second, all I saw was the barrel of his gun, two feet from my face. My instincts screamed at me to disarm him, but I couldn’t make my hand move. If he shot me, I’d never feel a thing.
Benjamin slammed Judd into the wall. He pinned him there with his forearm against his chest. “Drop your weapon. Now.”
Judd dropped his handgun to the floor.
Benjamin released him, a scowl marring his handsome face. “Now get far away from me.” Judd sidled along the wall toward the crowd, staring wide-eyed at Benjamin.
Benjamin turned to me, still scowling. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said, still stunned that Judd had drawn his weapon over mere words—but more so that I hadn’t stopped him.
“Good.” He faced the crowd, his eyes sparking with anger. “Let me make something very clear to all of you.” His voice grew louder and carried over the crowd. “If any of you so much as look at a member of my team the wrong way, not only will I withhold medical help when you need it, I will hurt you. Don’t let the red cross on my uniform fool you. I am neither your friend, nor an easy target. You do not want to cross me.”
“You can’t do that,” one of the Sentinels protested. “You have to provide medical help.”
Benjamin narrowed his eyes, looking more dangerous than I’d ever seen him. “You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension. Despite what your leader would have you believe, I am not a doctor. I took no oath other than a promise to serve and protect the people of Saint Catherine. Nobody—not Jillian, not Dean, not God Himself—can make me heal someone without my consent. Do I make myself clear?”
His shout echoed around the armory. The Sentinels nodded, dumbstruck.
He turned to me. “The four of you can come to me any time for healing, but I’d appreciate if some of you didn’t unless it’s truly life-threatening.”
I understood the meaning of his cold words perfectly.
He stormed back to the flu patients.
The crowd dispersed, but Dean crossed the room and grabbed Judd. “Get your weapon and give it to me.”
Judd had the sense to surrender his gun without protest. “Here,” he muttered.
Dean unloaded it. “You’re not going to join us on the next raid. You’re not getting this back until you understand not to point a gun at anything you don’t intend to shoot.”
Judd stared at me with obvious hatred. “Right. Superheroes are our friends.”
31
That night, I laid on my cot and stared up at the ceiling.
Next to me, on their own cots, Ember and Marco slept peacefully, their dreams seemingly undisturbed by memories of Patrick, Matthew, Benjamin, and Judd. The armory was freezing, but my woolen blankets and thick winter gear were enough to keep out the cold. My internal tremor had nothing to do with the temperature.
I pulled the blankets up to my chin, the walls pressing down on me. I needed to get out of the confining armory and feel the wind on my face.
I swung my feet on the floor and pulled up my neck gaiter, then walked silently past the sleeping forms of Dean and Ken, who flanked the door. I pushed it open and slipped through, shutting it softly behind me.
The snowstorm whirled around me, burying Liberty in soft snow drifts. I staggered through the snow, unsure of where I was going. I was so tired and cold, but I didn’t want to go back to the armory. I didn’t want to see Dean or Judd or Gregory, or any other Sentinel.
I just wanted to go home.
But where was home for me? Benjamin had sworn an oath to serve and protect Saint Catherine, as had I, but Saint Catherine was dangerous for us now. It would be where the strike team would begin their search for us rogue superheroes.
We weren’t even really superheroes anymore, despite what the Sentinels said. We weren’t anything or anyone. Just as I’d warned Benjamin, we’d left the camps and now we were drifting in limbo.
I wandered into the tree line, where the snow wasn’t so deep. It was quiet except for a faint, omnipresent crackle of the snow touching down. I trudged away from Liberty, able to see my way in the forest thanks to the full moon’s light reflecting off the snow, which appeared blue in the light.
I reached a high earthen wall—Reid’s fortification. I ran my gloved hand over it. Though it was compacted dirt, it was as hard as stone. As steel.
I was trapped by another wall.
I fell to my k
nees, resting my forehead against the cold wall. I had no tears left to cry. I had nothing left inside me, nothing but the emptiness left behind by the principles, and the anger that constantly filled the emptiness, then drained away, then filled it again. The cycle burned every time, but I didn’t know how to stop it.
The principles had never burned.
“The first principle, cautiousness,” I whispered. “I… I will use judgment in hazardous situations. The second principle, deference. I will yield to the will of the authorities over me.” The familiar words and definitions coursed through my mind, bringing a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in weeks. “The third principle: decisiveness. I will… I will…”
I will choose a course of action when required and see it through.
The third principle was where I’d failed. I’d let my team be bounced around by the winds of change and chance. I hadn’t made a decision about our future and seen it through. We could’ve gone back to Saint Catherine, we could’ve firmly decided to stay with the Sentinels, or we could’ve forged ahead into the unknown. I had no idea what I should’ve chosen. Isabel needed to be rescued, but that wasn’t a reason to live. That wasn’t my entire life’s purpose.
What would my grandmother have done?
I sat against the wall and dropped my hands into my lap. I had no idea what Jillian St. James, the first Battlecry, would’ve done. All anybody ever remembered about her was that she’d led her team and been murdered. I liked to imagine that my double namesake had been fierce and proud, but I didn’t know for sure.
I did know quite a bit about her grandmother, my great-great-grandmother Christina St. James, such as the fact that she’d gone public with her powers during World War I, the first Super to do so.
Christina had been the quiet, demure wife of a nice man, and the mother of six children, when she’d received word that her eldest son had been captured by the Germans. She’d flown across the Atlantic—the only known Super capable of flight—and stormed the prison camp, unafraid of bullets or bombs because she was also invulnerable to harm.
Following the almost immediate surrender of the Central Powers, the American people had been eager to learn more about the woman who could fight armies. Soon others came forward with their amazing gifts, and the first superhero teams were formed.
Christina had compiled the first list of principles, guidelines for how we should conduct ourselves. Garrett Williamson had “fixed” the guidelines decades later and added rule after rule about how we should live our lives. One of the first rules was that women couldn’t be leaders because they were too emotional.
For the first time since taking over my team, I couldn’t fully disagree with him. I was such a failure, in every possible way. I couldn’t sleep because I had nightmares about people who were no longer in my life. I had flashbacks about them during combat. I’d ruined my relationship with Benjamin. I couldn’t make Marco happy. I had no idea how to help Ember and Reid. I had no purpose.
I longed to be a machine, unburdened by memories of Patrick’s abuse and Matthew’s hands.
No, that wasn’t what I longed for.
More than anything, I wanted sleep. Deep sleep. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up, never have to see the hate in my brother’s eyes and the betrayal in Benjamin’s. I wasn’t even cold anymore. If I sat out here long enough, I would fall asleep. It would be peaceful. I’d dream about Matthew for a little while, and then I wouldn’t dream.
I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. I pretended that the snowstorm was creating a soft blanket of snow around me. I wasn’t sad. I had no future to mourn.
Warm hands lifted my chin up.
I cracked open my eyelids, which were stiff with cold.
“Jill?” Marco was kneeling next to me. “Jill, please look at me. We need to go inside.” His voice sounded indistinct and far away, like a badly-tuned radio.
I didn’t move. I was so tired. Marco looked over his shoulder and yelled something, but I couldn’t focus on his words. The whole world wavered, as if I were under water. Why couldn’t he just let me sleep?
A white face wreathed in red appeared, and then suddenly I was standing up, moving through the forest. They were helping me walk, though I could not feel my feet. Liberty neared, and then we were in the clearing, headed for the main building.
A gloved hand opened the door and warm air gushed out. People were sleeping on the carpet.
“Set her down by the heater,” Marco instructed. “We need to warm her up. Can you get some warm clothes and a drink, please?”
Marco took my gloves off and grasped my hands in his. I couldn’t feel them, nor could I move my mouth to tell him so. Instead, I admired the stark contrast of our skin tones, his pretty sepia against my bone white. My hands weren’t always so pale—what had happened?
Ember gently tipped a salty, warm beverage down my throat. It snaked through me, heating my insides in a way that was painful and pleasant at the same time. I began to shiver.
“Good, that means she’s warming up,” Marco said. “Put the heated blanket around her.”
The room finally came into focus and I noticed how hard I was shaking. “More, please,” I whispered.
Ember handed me the steaming cup, her eyes wide. “Why were you out in the snow? We woke up and followed your tracks. What were you doing walking around in a snowstorm?”
“I want to sleep,” I mumbled.
“So stay in your cot,” Marco said, incredulous. “If you sleep out in the snow, you’ll… die…” Sad realization dawned on his face. “Jill, what happened?”
Ember stroked my hand, which ached down to the bones. “Please talk to us. You keep saying you’re alright, but you’re not. You’re just not. You weren’t doing well before the tribunal, but now it’s so much worse.”
I couldn’t find the words to express why I’d sat down in the snow and waited to slip away. How could I begin to explain emotions that even I didn’t fully understand? It wasn’t one thing, or even a combination of things. It wasn’t Benjamin’s dishonesty, Gregory’s rejection, Patrick’s tortured last breaths, or the lingering memory of Matthew’s fingers. It wasn’t the anger and pain that choked me. It wasn’t even the betrayal of the elders.
It was something else, something insidious and all-consuming.
It was running my hand along the wall and realizing that no matter how far I ran, how hard I fought, I was trapped. I would always be trapped. I was a lion in a zoo, a predator bred in captivity, on display for the American people.
Temporary sleep provided no relief, when I could get it. In my dreams, Patrick beat me, or Matthew assaulted me, ignoring my screams and pleas. I was powerless and afraid, and I was tired of being powerless and afraid. Death was the only option.
Ember cradled my head in her hands. “I’ve read about mental illnesses.” Her eyes were large and kind. “There’s a disease where you can’t be happy, called depression. I… I think you should talk to Benjamin about it. Talking to people about how you feel is one of the ways people deal with it.”
“I’m not sick,” I mumbled. “And Benjamin doesn’t want to talk to me unless it’s life-threatening.”
“You were going to let yourself die, and this isn’t the first time you’ve thought about it. Remember your promise to Benjamin on the way to the tribunal? You said you’d keep yourself alive. He’d want to know.”
I drew my knees to my chest. “He doesn’t want to know. I’ve tried to talk to him, and he got angry about Dean.”
“Benjamin is extremely jealous of Dean,” Ember said. “And you need to be honest with him about what happened between you two. But Benjamin loves you, and he wants to be with you. You need to talk to him, even if he’s being a butthead.”
Marco looked confused. “Wait, what happened between you and Dean? Is that why Benjamin moved into the infirmary?”
“I was angry at Benjamin, so I kissed Dean. And then Dean kissed me in front of Benjamin after the attack.”
M
arco let out a long breath. “Wow. Why didn’t you just shoot him?”
His mention of gunshots dislodged something inside me, and tears began to fall. Ember held me while I cried and shook, unable to rid myself of the memory of Judd’s gun, and the men I’d killed during the raid several days before. I’d become someone else during the raid, someone I was terrified to be again.
“Aw, Jill, please don’t cry,” Marco pleaded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You say a lot of things that hurt, actually,” Ember said sternly. “Like when you made fun of Jill for wanting to jump off the bridge last summer, or when you said that what Matthew did to her wasn’t as bad as what Patrick did to me.”
Marco clasped his hands in his lap. “I already apologized, and I really meant it. We talked about it and everything. I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore, but I just don’t see why Jill can’t just let these things go and move on. Patrick’s dead and she’ll never see Matthew again.”
“I don’t know how to move on,” I said, still crying.
“I talked to Reid about my attack,” Ember said, stroking my hair. “He was willing to listen as much as I needed him to. It always helped, and now I don’t have nightmares anymore. Talking to someone doesn’t make you weak. Is that what you’re worried about? Appearing weak?”
I nodded.
Marco drew me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He murmured sweet words into my ear that eventually caused my crying to slow. My cousin hadn’t talked to me like that since we thought Gregory had died.
The three of us sat on the floor in the corner of the main building for an hour. Ember tried to persuade me to talk to Benjamin, but I wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want to see me, and I was unwilling to share such intimate information with someone who was withholding information from me.
Marco promised to speak to Benjamin about my disinterest in Dean, though he didn’t hold out much hope.
“He probably thinks you and Dean are doing it,” he said as we walked back to the armory. The snowy town glowed silver in the moonlight. “God, Jill, he’s so in love with you, it’s hard to be around him sometimes. When he gets started about how brave you are, and how pretty you are, and how glad he is that he met you, and how you changed his life, blah blah blah, it drives me up the wall. And then Reid jumps in about you, Ember...”
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