I took the spare blankets that I had stolen from the Legacies and layered them on the floor next to Sylvester’s bed. Then I hunkered down and pulled the covers around me in a tight hug. I was almost asleep when my father finally responded.
“I love you, George. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I know, Dad.”
The next morning, we pretended that the previous evening’s conversation had never occurred. Dad made breakfast—dried berries, mashed tubers, and sizzling rabbit meat—for the three of us. We ate around the fireplace and drank Dad’s homemade tea. Sylvester kept us entertained with all sorts of stories from his years with Dad. As we laughed at his impressions of my father, I almost forgot about the problems that lay beyond our campsite. It was so refreshing to spend time with family—since Sylvester already felt like a brother—that I dreaded returning to reality. Eventually, when our plates were clean and the fire smoldered lower and lower, we had to face the challenge ahead.
We prepared ourselves for every possible outcome, arming ourselves with weapons from Dad’s shed. He had collected lost gear—hunting rifles, knives, and the like—from unlucky hikers over the years. I dressed in multiple layers, unwilling to get caught out in the cold again, and pulled the tactical jacket on last. The Kevlar patches were still intact, even after the jacket had taken a few beatings. If Base One started shooting at us, I had a little padding.
To my surprise, Dad didn’t argue when Sylvester announced that he would be accompanying us. After yesterday’s strife, I had expected Dad to tell the teenager that he wasn’t well enough, or that approaching Base One was too dangerous.
“There’s no point,” Dad muttered to me as we watched Sylvester pocket a handful of snacks. “It’s useless arguing with him.”
“I can hear you!” Sylvester said.
“Get a move on, kid,” I told him. “We have places to be.”
We made it to the outlook over Base One in record time. The snowfall had let up momentarily, and it was warmer that it had been yesterday. I pulled off my hat as we surveyed Base One’s gargantuan territory, enjoying the crisp breeze that played with my hair.
“Holy shit,” Sylvester said, scanning Base One from one side to the other.
Dad cuffed him over the head. “Language.”
“Sorry, but holy shit.”
“Yeah, it’s big,” I said.
“Big is an understatement,” Sylvester replied. “You didn’t tell me that Base One was the size of Jupiter.”
“You scared?”
“No!”
“Kids, stop fighting,” Dad said dryly. “This was your idea, so what’s the plan?”
“Well, we obviously can’t lay siege to the place.” I studied the base’s structure, taking note of each man stationed at the entrances. The main entrance—the one that Aaron had advised I use if I wanted to go inside—was at the far side, opposite of our position. “We would never make it out alive.”
“Three against five hundred are not encouraging odds,” Dad agreed. “Not to mention, this place is built like a fortress. We could never sneak in.”
“No, we couldn’t.”
“So we’re agreed?” Dad asked. “There’s no point in risking our lives here?”
“I said we couldn’t sneak in,” I replied. “I never said that I couldn’t walk in through the main gates.”
Dad and Sylvester, on either side of me, turned to stare at my face as if to check if I was serious or not.
“You’re kidding, right?” Sylvester said. “You want to hand yourself over to them?”
“Absolutely not,” Dad said.
“We need intel from the inside,” I argued. “The only way to get it is if we have someone inside Base One. If I give myself up, I can walk right into Buddy Arnold’s camp without a problem.”
“And what happens if they shoot you on sight?” Dad challenged.
“They won’t,” I said. “I heard them talking about me after the Camp Haven attack. They know who I am. They know that I can use the radios. They need me.”
Dad rested his hand on my shoulder. “There’s no way I’m letting you walk in there alone.”
I shook him off. “You can’t stop me. I’m going in, whether you like it or not. Now you can either stick around and help me or you can pretend that I don’t exist.”
Dad and I stared at each, locked in a silent argument. Sylvester’s eyes darted between the two of us as though he were watching a particularly entertaining ping pong match. He elbowed Dad in the side.
“Uh, Dad?” he said. “No offense, but you’re a dick if you don’t agree to help her.”
“Language!” My father and I said at the same time.
Sylvester raised his hands innocently. “If you don’t help her, I will.”
“Sylvester, that’s not necessary—” I began.
“Fine,” Dad said.
I looked at him in shock. “Fine? You mean…?”
“Like I said, I can’t let you do this alone,” Dad said. “I assume you’ve been working on this idea for a few days now. What do you need me to do?”
I grinned, pulled a fully functioning two-way radio from out of my bag, and handed it to Dad. “Listen for my signal.”
Chapter Eight
I circled around Base One through the woods, wanting to stay hidden until the last possible second. I’d left my weapons with Dad and Sylvester. There was no point in bringing them when the soldiers would confiscate them as soon as I set foot in their camp. Additionally, I’d shed a few layers beneath the Kevlar coat. It was all part of the plan. The fortified walls of Base One were taller up close. They towered over the land, casting long shadows far across the ground. I watched the main entrance from the trees, my heart pumping loudly against my rib cage. Six men patrolled this entrance alone, the one that Aaron claimed was loosely guarded. There was nothing else to do but present myself. I just had to gather to courage to do it. With a deep breath, I stepped out of the forest and began walking toward the front gate as slowly as possible. It wasn’t long before the first guard noticed my black jacket against the stark white landscape.
“Twelve o’clock,” he called to his cohorts, raising his gun at a ready position.
I lifted my hands above my head as the other guards converged. “Please,” I said, forcing my voice to tremble. “I need help. I have no food or water. I’m hurt. Please help me.”
To really sell it, I sank to my knees before the soldiers could reach me. The first one stopped a few feet short, and I looked up at him through damp eyelashes.
“Jesus, your face,” he said. “What the hell happened to your nose?”
“A rock fell while I was hiking this way,” I lied. “I couldn’t move out of the way in time. Do you have a medical team here?”
“Yeah,” the soldier said, lowering his gun a little. “They can fix you up.”
“Wait a second, Galt!” Another soldier approached us from the main gate. “I recognize her. She’s from Camp Haven.”
“So what?” Galt asked. “We took in the other survivors. Why not her?”
“I’m not saying we don’t take her in,” the second soldier said. “The bitch got away from us the first time. I’m saying we take her straight to Buddy. Pat her down. Make sure she doesn’t have anything sharp or explosive on her.”
“Take it easy, Douche.”
“For the hundredth time, it’s Deutsch!”
“Whatever.” Galt let his rifle rest against his hip, helped me up from the ground, and checked me over. “Sorry about this,” he muttered, running his hands up my inner thighs. “It’s protocol. She’s clear!”
Galt and Deutsch took me by either arm, but while Galt was gentle in escorting me inside, his partner squeezed so tightly I thought I might lose circulation. The massive gates rolled open to allow us entrance, and we walked right into Base One.
Despite the size of the compound, it felt crowded. Soldiers and civilians alike rushed from place to place in a frenzy of activity. The buildin
gs were blocky and gray, built from old architectural plans. The outer walls made every point in the camp seem claustrophobic. No matter where you stood, they closed in on you from above, trapping you in place. Base One was not like Camp Haven. There was an aura of fear in the air, a bitter tang that you could taste on the tip of your tongue. As the soldiers ushered me along, I couldn’t help but notice the wide-eyed stares pointed in my direction. The civilians’ expressions seemed to warn me of issues to come.
I was shunted into one of the boring gray buildings, where the inside was no better than the exterior. The walls were painted sterile white, and each door was marked with bold capital letters. Galt and Deutsch pushed me through one labeled “Processing.” More soldiers waited in the next room, which was completely empty save for a showerhead mounted to the wall.
“This is going to suck,” Galt said to me under his breath. “I’m sorry in advance, but after this, it’s not so bad.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked him.
He didn’t get the opportunity to answer. Without my consent, three female soldiers stepped forward and began stripping me out of my clothes. I didn’t protest until they reached the last layer, but they pinned my hands down and relieved me of even my underwear. Goosebumps erupted across my skin as one of the women physically examined me from head to toe.
“Bend over and cough,” she ordered.
Aaron was right. This place was like prison.
Once the soldiers had finished their preliminary inspection, they turned on the showerhead and shoved me under the battering stream of water. I coughed and spluttered as they scrubbed me raw with a bar of awful-smelling soap, roughly washed the oil and dirt from my hair, and rinsed me off. After drying off, Galt returned with a neatly folded pile of clothes. He averted his eyes from my body as he handed them to me.
“I guessed the sizes,” he said. “You’re almost out of the woods. We’re heading to the medical unit next. Hopefully they can do something about your nose.”
Shivering, I shook out the clothes. They had provided me with a pair of loose gray cargo pants and a matching button up shirt. Most of the civilians wore similar outfits topped with a puffy winter jacket. I got dressed as quickly as possible, grateful for any kind of defense against the soldiers’ probing gazes. Once I had finished, Deutsch reached out to take me by the arm again, but Galt stepped in.
“I got it,” he said, taking my elbow gently. “You can stay here. She’s had enough of you gawking at her.”
As Deutsch glared at us, Galt escorted me from the room and down the hall. The medical unit was through a different door, but it was no warmer than the previous room. Everything was white and sterile. A soldier with bright orange hair examined a file behind the front desk, his feet propped up on another chair.
“Whaddaya got?” he asked carelessly, popping bubble gum between his teeth. He glanced over the file. His boots fell off the desk and hit the floor. “It’s you!”
“Kalupa?” I said in disbelief. Sure enough, it was the tall, gangly soldier that I’d spared in the woods a few days ago. I was glad to see that he hadn’t suffered at the hands of Buddy Arnold for being the only survivor in his unit.
“Wait a second,” Galt said. “You guys know each other?”
“No,” Kalupa answered, too quickly for it to be considered the truth. He cleared his throat, straightening the already neat files on his desk. “I mean, not really. She—uh—”
“I saved his ass,” I replied for him.
“This is the chick you saw in the woods?” Galt asked Kalupa, laughing deep in his belly. “Dude, she’s tiny! I thought you said she took out an entire team on her own.”
“She did!” he insisted. Apparently, he hadn’t told the rest of them about my father’s presence in the forest that day.
Galt shook his head, still laughing, and knocked Kalupa over the head. “Oh, Kalupa. You’re a riot. She needs vaccinations. Oh, and can you have a look at her nose? It’s pretty fucked up.”
When Kalupa stood up, the top of his head nearly brushed against the low ceiling. Out of habit, he hunched over to avoid making contact. He opened a nearby cabinet to take out latex gloves and a syringe of clear liquid.
“Roll up your shirt sleeve,” he said, fixing a needle to the syringe.
“Hang on a minute,” I replied. “Camp Haven gave us vaccinations too. What if yours and theirs are contraindicated?”
“We administered this vaccine to all of the Camp Haven survivors,” Kalupa said. “None of them had any problems with it.”
“What’s it for?”
He pulled the cap off of the needle with his teeth and spat it out. “Typhoid.”
“Typhoid?”
“Relax,” Galt said. “We mostly have it under control.”
“Mostly?”
Kalupa wiped my arm with a cotton swab. “Can you hold still please?”
The needle punctured my skin, and Kalupa pushed the plunger down. He tossed the syringe into the trash can and patted my arm.
“All done.”
I inspected the prick in my skin. “Where did you guys get all of this stuff?”
“Here and there,” Galt answered.
I glared at him. “You don’t have to be coy. Base One burned my home to the ground in order to steal our supplies. I guess you did the same thing to other compounds, right?”
Kalupa took my face with surprisingly gentle hands to inspect my nose. “Base One had a few things on hand when we got here. I wasn’t a part of any other raids. Did you set this yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Nice job,” he said, impressed. “It’s mostly just swollen. I can splint it so that it stays in place and give you some painkillers.”
“Don’t waste them,” I replied. “The pain doesn’t bother me.”
“Whatever you say, hard ass.” Kalupa rifled through another drawer of the cabinet to look for the nose splint. Under his breath, he asked Galt, “Hey, uh, does Buddy know she’s here yet?”
Galt took a fresh set of paperwork from a file cabinet and began filling it out. “Probably. Deutsch was on guard with me when she came in. He seemed pretty adamant about delivering her straight to Buddy.”
“Great,” Kalupa muttered. “Questioning is going to be a bear.”
“What’s your name, honey?” Galt asked me.
“Georgie Fitz.”
He scribbled it across the top of the paperwork. “And what exactly did you do to piss off our beloved comrade?”
The scene from the night that Camp Haven went up in flames replayed in my mind. Eirian, Pippa, and I had made it out of there and into the woods alive, only to be chased by a group of Base One’s soldiers. They had separated us from each other, and four or five guys had kicked me to the ground. My father showed up with his crossbow then, mercilessly taking out the soldiers around me. Only one of them escaped. Deutsch’s black hair and beady eyes were suddenly familiar to me.
“I embarrassed him,” I answered.
“Good,” Kalupa said, gently setting the splint across the bridge of my nose. “He’s an ass. You’re better off avoiding him if you can. Now, listen. Mostly everybody here is a jackass. You’ve probably figured that out already. It’s Buddy’s doing. At Base One, you either prove that you’re ready for anything or you fall to the bottom of the pile.”
“Where are you at?” I asked him.
“Somewhere between rock bottom and too useful to treat like absolute dirt,” Kalupa replied as he taped the splint down. “I’m one of the only people who showed up to Base One with any kind of medical experience. Buddy knows he can’t mess with me, but after that fiasco a few days ago, I’m definitely on his shit list. Stick around Galt. He’ll keep you out of trouble. Somehow, he’s got Buddy in his back pocket.”
Galt grinned, dug into the cargo pockets of his pants, and pulled out a Snickers bar. “It’s only because I found a truckload of these on the way up to Base One. They’re Buddy’s favorite.” He tossed the candy bar to me
and raised a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone where you got that.”
I unwrapped the Snickers bar and took a savage bite out of it. It had been months since I’d had real chocolate. My taste buds had grown used to the organic, home-grown food we had at Camp Haven, and the candy was too sweet. I wrinkled my nose and inspected the wrapper.
“Not good?” Galt asked.
“Too sweet,” I said, handing it back to him. He chomped down on the leftovers and shrugged.
“Galt, can you not?”
“Sorry.”
“As I was saying,” Kalua went on, examining his handiwork as I wiped caramel off my chin, “Buddy’s an ass, and so are his cohorts. They’re going to want to question you. Deutsch is probably on his way to pick you up right now.”
“Question me about what?”
“About what happened after you and your friend shot up my entire unit.”
“Oh.” I pasted on a sheepish expression. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
Kalupa tossed the extra first aid supplies back into the cabinet. “Don’t apologize. You did what you had to do. But I highly recommend that you don’t tell Buddy that you weren’t working alone. Paint it like you were scared for your life. You killed those men because you thought that they would kill you first if you didn’t. That’s your story. Stick to it. Otherwise, you’ll be detained in some tiny room for however long we’re stuck in this hellhole.”
A barrage of knocks hammered on the door to the medical unit, and Deutsch let himself in before Galt or Kalupa could grant him access. His black hair, usually greased against his scalp, was disheveled and sweaty, as if he had run across the base and back again.
Blackout (Book 2) Page 10