“I didn’t peg you for a lock picker,” I said, searching the room for Dad’s crossbow and my rifle. There were rows upon rows of pistols, rifles, grenades, and body armor. No weapons, my ass.
“I got kicked out of military school a while back,” she replied. “But not before I learned a few useful skills.”
“What did you do to get kicked out of military school?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Aha!” I grinned in triumph as I extricated Dad’s crossbow and bolt quiver from the other weapons on the wall. My rifle was nearby as well. I loaded it with the ammunition from the Legacies’ stash. Then I slung the crossbow across one shoulder, the bursting duffel over the other, keeping my hands free to aim the rifle if need be.
“Got everything?” Caroline said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Easier said than done. Marco, his foot wrapped in several layers of bandages, waited for us on the other side of the door with a gun in hand.
“Heard your door open, Caroline,” Marco said, glaring at her. “We’ll talk about the punishment for your treason later.”
On a whim, I locked my elbow around Caroline’s neck and dragged her away from the door to the armory. She struggled against my grip, clawing at my arm, as I placed the rifle against her temple.
“Relax, the safety’s on,” I muttered to her under my breath. Then I spoke to Marco and his cohorts in a clearer tone. “Don’t blame her. I forced her to show me to the storage rooms. I threatened to kill her. Unless you want another dead Legacy on your hands, I’d back the fuck up and let me out of this hellhole.”
Marco hesitated, his eyes darting between my cold expression and Caroline’s terrible face. I had to give him credit. He obviously cared about her. Otherwise, he would have already taken the shot. I backed slowly toward the hallway that led to the safest exit. Marco, leaning heavily on his good foot, limped after me, his gun trained on my head. I grinned as I moved swiftly into the next corridor. He couldn’t keep up with me.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one awake. I failed to check the next hallway for danger and ran straight into the chest of another Legacy. The man was massive. The top of my head didn’t even draw level with his chin.
“Oh shit.”
“Stop her!” Marco yelled. “She’s stolen from us!”
I released Caroline and ducked under the monstrous man’s outstretched arms before they could close around me. That was the best thing about fighting an opponent that was larger than you. It took them a lot longer to move their bulk around. I darted around to the man’s left, but he stuck his foot out at the last second. My boot caught, and I went flying, landing face first on the stone. I heard rather than felt my nose break. There was no time to contemplate the stars flashing in front of my eyes or the blood streaming down my chin. I scrambled to my feet and rushed for the door, but Marco had caught up with me. He yanked on the duffel bag, the strap of which tightened around my neck. I choked against it, then whirled around and aimed a punch down the center of Marco’s face. Another crack echoed against the stone walls, and the skin of my knuckles split as they made contact with Marco’s nose and teeth. He released his hold on me and doubled over with a groan.
“You broke my nose, I break yours,” I said, spraying him with blood. “Guess that makes us square.” I paused at the exit door to look back at Caroline, who had convinced the other Legacy not to follow me. “You’re better than this place. If you ever want to get out of here, come find me.”
With that, I leapt over Marco’s quivering form, kicked open the exit door, and escaped into the black night with my haul.
Chapter Seven
By the time I made it back to the campsite, Sylvester was bundled up in the rest of Dad’s clothes, and Dad was down to his long underwear. The fire roared dangerously bright. If anyone else was camping nearby, they definitely would have spotted us. It was a risk that Dad was willing to take to save Sylvester’s life. When I stepped into the clearing, he raised the handgun.
“Dad, it’s me!”
“Jesus, George. Your nose!” He dropped the gun and wrapped his arm around Sylvester again. The kid’s eyes were hardly open, like he couldn’t make sense of the world around him. “Did you find anything?”
“As a matter of fact…” I dropped the duffel to the ground, along with the rifle and the crossbow. “I did.”
“My crossbow!” Dad said. “How did you get all of this?”
“With a little help from the same person that got us out of there in the first place.” I ripped open the duffel back and threw a pair of snow pants and a jacket to Dad. “Put those on. How’s he doing?”
“He’s hanging in there,” Dad said, only moving from Sylvester once I had come to take his place. “But his body temperature is still too low.”
I ripped open a packet of hand warmers and placed them at even intervals over Sylvester’s body. Then I wrapped him in the wool comforter and tucked it in until he looked like a gray, oversized human burrito. I stuck another warmer into a knit hat and pulled it on over Sylvester’s head.
“There we go,” I said, rubbing the kid’s arms to help get the blood flowing. “We’ll get you warmed up soon, kid. Don’t worry.”
“Come here, George,” Dad said. “Let’s have a look at that nose.”
I left Sylvester’s side to let the hand warmers do their work and joined Dad near the fire. He doused the corner of a spare T-shirt with water from the canteen we had filled at the river and began dabbing at my nose. The blood had dried up and caked around my nostrils and chin. Dad worked to clean it off, trying to avoid jostling the break.
“It’s not too bad, but we’re going to have to set it if you want to breathe properly for the rest of your life,” Dad said, rinsing the blood off the T-shirt for the third time. “You ready?”
“No.”
He took my face in his hands and placed his thumbs on either side of my nose. “Counting down from three. Three, two—”
He shoved upward before he got to one, and my face felt like it might explode from the pressure, but when the bone popped back into place, I felt immediate relief.
“Ow.”
Dad examined his handiwork. “Sorry. It’ll have to do for now.”
“I’m okay with that.” I dug through the duffel bag and tossed him a can of Spaghettios. “Eat that. You look pale.”
He punctured the top of the can with his knife and slurped the mushy noodles out of the roughly cut opening. I opened my own can and tapped it against his.
“Here’s to a disgusting breakfast and a beautiful sunrise,” I said, lifting the can up. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the horizon was a beautiful lilac color.
“Here’s to you,” Dad added. “I can’t believe you pulled that off. I’m assuming that Marco was the one that gifted you with the broken nose?”
“One of his big, dumb Legacy bros, actually,” I said. “Don’t worry. I made sure Marco and I had matching wounds before I left.”
Dad chuckled. “Good. He deserves it. Thank you.”
I fished a wayward piece of pasta from the lip of my can. “For what?”
“For risking your life to save Sylvester’s,” Dad said. “You don’t know him at all, and you willingly put yourself in danger to make sure that he was all right. Twice. First at the river, then at the church.”
“Well, I know how much he means to you,” I muttered. “Found family is just as important, sometimes more, as the people who you’re related to by blood.” I checked on the kid again, relieved that he had finally stopped shivering. “The important thing is that we got Sylvester back. One down, two and a half to go.”
“And a half?”
“Pippa’s baby.”
“Ah.” He took another chug of pasta.
“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” I asked him.
“About what?”
“About figuring out how to get my friends out of Base One.”
“George—�
�
I plunked my half-empty can into the dirt. “I knew it. I knew I couldn’t count on you for something like this. I held up my end of the bargain, Dad. I put off rescuing my friends so that we could go back to Camp Haven and find Sylvester. Well, we found him, and he’s safe, so now it’s your turn to help me for once in your goddamn life.”
Dad wrapped another coat around himself. “George, I’m doing my best here, okay? I’m trying to be realistic.”
“You promised!”
Sylvester stirred. “Dad?”
Dad wasted no time in taking the opportunity to put off our conversation. He rushed to Sylvester’s side. “Hey, buddy. You had us scared shitless for a while there. How are you feeling?”
“Hot,” the kid muttered. Thankfully, his lips were beginning to pink up again. He rolled side to side, his arms trapped beneath the blanket. “Why am I wrapped up like a crazy person in a psych ward?”
“You were hypothermic,” I told him, untucking the corners of the blanket to free his arms. “We were trying to get your body temperature back up to normal.”
Sylvester grasped my hand in his, and I was grateful to note that his skin was warm against mine. “You saved me. You’re the one that pulled me out of the river.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Do me a favor though? Avoid any half-frozen bodies of water from here on out, okay?”
“You got it.”
“What happened out there, Sylvester?” Dad asked. “When did you get out of Camp Haven? Were you the one that left the trail of matches down to the city?”
Sylvester took the can of Spaghettios from Dad and swallowed a mouthful. “Slow down, Dad. My brain’s still thawing out. I left the cabin and got into the bunker as soon as the explosions went off. I probably should have tried to find a way to save a few of the others, but I was honestly too freakin’ scared. I waited down there until the explosions and the screaming stopped. When I finally came out, Camp Haven was a graveyard.” His eyes glazed over as he stared into the fire, and I knew that he was watching his memories rather than the flames. “I didn’t know what to do. The soldiers had taken the survivors north, toward your house. I couldn’t make it up to you without them noticing me. And I couldn’t stay in Camp Haven either. I figured the only way to survive would be to find supplies in the city, so I headed down. I dropped the matches in case something went wrong. You’d know where to find me.”
“Except you weren’t there,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, I ran into some trouble,” he said. “Someone had set up a trap. I noticed it before I walked into it. The person who set it didn’t like that. They chased me away from the city, but I lost them in the woods.”
“The Legacies,” Dad muttered, rolling his eyes. “What happened next?”
“Got lost,” Sylvester said. “I spent the day trying and failing to retrace my footsteps. Then I heard your voices in the woods. The only problem was that you were on the opposite side of the river. I had to try and cross it somehow.”
Dad flicked Sylvester’s ear.
“Ow!”
“That was stupid,” Dad said, wagging his pointer finger in Sylvester’s face. “I can’t believe you willingly jumped into a half-frozen river. Don’t ever do that again.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Sylvester rubbed his ear and looked up at me. “Who are you exactly? You look familiar.”
I exchanged a look with Dad, who shrugged before returning to the campfire with a new can of food.
“I’m Georgie,” I told Sylvester. “I’m his daughter.”
Sylvester’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “The one that got lost in the woods when she was eighteen. I thought you were dead!”
“Is that what he told you?”
“No, I just—” He faltered, glancing between me and my father’s broad back. “Wow, you’re really pretty.”
That got a laugh out of me. “Nice deflection, kid.”
“What happened to your nose?”
“I lost a fight with the floor. On your behalf, I might add.”
Sylvester winced. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t sweat it.” I looked at my father again, who ate quietly near the fire, and lowered my voice. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything,” Sylvester said. “You saved my life.”
“You know the people who attacked Camp Haven?” I asked him. He nodded. “They were from another camp, a military operation that the soldiers call Base One. They took the Camp Haven survivors back to their compound, and now two of my friends are trapped there.”
Sylvester’s brow wrinkled with concern. “That’s terrible.”
“I agree,” I said. “I want to get them out, but Base One is practically impenetrable. I can’t get in there alone. Dad promised to help me, but now he’s going back on his word.”
Sylvester finished the last bite of pasta and then tossed the empty can across the camp. It hit my father’s back, bounced off, and rolled away across the dirt. I flinched. Apparently, subtlety wasn’t Sylvester’s thing.
“Hey!” Dad scolded, turning round to face us. “What was that for?”
“Is it true?” Sylvester demanded.
“Is what true?”
“Did you promise her that you would help save her friends?”
Dad’s face grew red. “Sylvester, you don’t understand the risks involved—”
“Life out here is all risks,” Sylvester said. “Especially since the EMP went off. That doesn’t mean that we back down from helping our friends. In fact, it should inspire us to do the exact opposite. If there are people from Camp Haven trapped at this Base One place, then I want to get them out.”
“Sylvester—”
“That’s our family, Dad,” the teenager pushed on. “We introduced each and every one of those people to Camp Haven. I watched them build the compound from the ground up. They’re our responsibility. We can’t leave them there.”
“I understand that,” Dad said with the air of a man placating a child. “But there’s too much at risk. Besides, if we rescued all of the Camp Haven survivors, what would we do with them? Camp Haven is gone, and I certainly can’t fit all of you in my house.”
“So we’ll rebuild,” Sylvester suggested.
“It took years to make Camp Haven what it was,” Dad reminded him. “And it’s the middle of winter. We don’t have the supplies to keep everyone safe. Right now, they’re better off at Base One.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “Everything I’ve heard about Base One has been negative. The man I met in the woods earlier—Aaron—he told me that Buddy Arnold runs that place like a prison. The civilians and the soldiers are terrified of him. We can’t let our people live in fear.”
“See?” Sylvester said. He had started shivering again. I tugged the wool comforter up to his chin. “Come on, Dad. We have to go save them. You promised.”
“All right, fine!” Dad threw his hands up in defeat, accidentally tossing canned pasta into the air. “We’ll go to Base One to look. Just to look. If we can figure out a safe way to get in to talk to someone, I’ll consider following through with it.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for,” I said.
Dad and I took turns keeping watch as we slept through the morning. Sylvester was determined to get moving, but we persuaded him to catch a few more hours of shuteye. He was a hardy kid. His brush with hypothermia hadn’t dampened his spirits, and we continually had to remind him to take it easy. When the sun was high enough in the sky to warm the tops of our heads, we packed up our things, scattered the remains of the fire, and headed up the mountain. We bypassed Camp Haven, taking the long way around to avoid seeing the destruction of our home again. It was agreed that we needed to return to Dad’s house before we proceeded to Base One in order to eat something other than canned noodles, make sure that Sylvester was in good health, and prepare ourselves for what we might find at the military camp below.
Sylvester, despite his gusto, fell int
o his bed as soon as we arrived home, pulled the covers over his head, and immediately began to snore. I sat on the floor and tugged my boots off, flexing my toes. They were cold and sore from walking all day. As I massaged the soles of my feet through my socks, Dad lugged a bucket of water to the stove.
“I’m going to warm this if you want to wash up,” he said. “How’s your nose?”
“Holding steady.”
Dad lit the fire beneath the stove burner, flicked out the match, and glanced at Sylvester. “He likes you.”
“He isn’t very difficult to please.”
Dad chuckled lightly. “This is true. His outlook on people varies greatly from mine. He thinks that everyone deserves kindness and respect until they prove that they don’t.”
“That’s very noble of him.”
“I don’t know where he got it from,” he replied. “I certainly didn’t teach him that.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “The classic Fitz way is blatant mistrust from introductions.”
I meant it as a joke, but Dad didn’t smile or laugh.
“You can take the bed,” he said, dipping a soft washcloth into the warm pot of water to wipe the dirt and grime off of his arms. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Dad, I didn’t mean it like that—”
“It’s fine.”
He shut himself off, his expression neutral and nonchalant as he continued to go about his business. Despite our reunion, there were things from the past that haunted us both. It would take a lot more time than a few days to rebuild a relationship that was never rock steady in the first place. It was doubtful that we would ever fully put our family drama aside, but second chances didn’t come around often.
“It’s hard for me,” I admitted. I kept my voice low, telling myself that it was because I didn’t want to wake Sylvester. In truth, I didn’t know how to say these things to my father out loud. “Seeing you with Sylvester. You’re warm and fatherly. You weren’t like that when I was a kid. I see that you’ve changed, and I’m proud of you, but there’s a part of me that’s jealous of Sylvester for getting what I always wanted.” Dad stopped moving but remained silent, leaning over the kitchen counter as if he needed it for moral support. “I’m trying to get used to the new you,” I went on. “It’s going to take some time. I’ll do better tomorrow. And you can have the bed. I know your back bothers you sometimes.”
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