It's easy to imagine the sounds of the bending trees and bubbling brooks as the dull thap-thap-thap of the drone. I keep thinking it'll find us and our lives will be over. I flinch at every unexpected sound and try to turn my focus inwards. I listen to the whistle of wind in my ears and the sound of our feet on the rough terrain. I focus on my breathing and managing the trembling in my knees and stomach. Adrenaline has found my body. It means I stumble more often than I should.
Though Max can outdistance me easily, he stays at my side. He's tense and alert as we race back to camp. He keeps looking over his shoulder for more soldiers. He does not think we will be lucky enough to get home without being tracked. We don't know how skilled the soldiers are at hunting. I share his fear, but I know the woods are empty. We would already be dead if there were more of them. The RFA does not leave survivors.
Thirty minutes into our run, we reach camp. The shield is as seamless and perfect as ever. The only way I can tell the difference between our part of the woods and the rest is the small blur where the shield comes together at a large tree. Most people miss the blur and walk past without ever knowing the difference.
Max stops running at the tree and puts his hand squarely in the middle of the trunk. His hand connects with the fingerprint reader. A blue light surrounds his hand, followed by a click as the reader recognizes him, and then a small door opens in front of us. He gestures me forward impatiently, his eyes still on the woods around us.
I walk straight into Riley, my best friend, on the other side. Her brown hair is in a sloppy bun and her eyes are excited. I can tell in a glance she's been watching the road again. Whatever she's seen on the road has her excited. It's nowhere near as dramatic as my news. I grab her arm in relief and she looks at me in worry, her excitement fading slightly.
“What’s the matter?” she asks.
I pant at her, unable to find my voice. The run has taken it from me. Explanations will have to wait. Max brushes past us purposefully and runs to the tent that belongs to Angela. Though his back and hair are covered in sweat, he's nowhere near as breathless as I am. He finds his voice easily as he taps on Angela’s tent.
“Angela!” he calls.
There's no reply.
“Grandma is at the gardens,” Riley provides. “Like she normally is this time of day.”
She stares between Max and me like she can’t believe we're so stupid. Nothing new ever happens at camp. The only variation is the weather. The routine means we stay safe; it's routine we're about to break.
Max turns away automatically at her words and runs past the chaotically spaced tents that are set up around the trees. People stare at him as he runs, wondering why he looks so serious. Max is known as a joker. He rarely shows people his serious side. They all know that something is seriously wrong from his expression. He runs down the short hill that borders the back of the tents, all but jumps the bridge that spans the large creek at the bottom, and runs up the log steps carved out of the muddy slope. I run after him, my heart still beating heavily from the violence of the fight and the speed of the run. Riley runs with us; she's curious and afraid. She has never seen either of us so worked up.
“Angela!” Max calls as he reaches the top of the slope.
“What is it, child?” Angela calls back pleasantly, tipping her large hat back to get a better look at Max from where she is picking vegetables.
I reach the last step and see the rows of vegetables and plants that help sustain camp. Forty people are at work tending to the crops. The younger children carry new baskets to their parents to fill and the older kids are working in the beds beside their parents.
Max realizes at the last instant that it’s not wise to shout the news of the attack to the field. It will only scare the children and send everyone else into a panic. He closes his mouth and hurries over to Angela. I catch up to him as he stops in front of her. Riley is at my side.
He touches Angela's arm in greeting, as is our way, and then gestures her away from the garden. Her brown face is wrinkled and touched with the worries of a lifetime spent looking after other people. Her frown gives life to the wrinkles, making her face look like it's expressing concern a dozen times over. Her white hair sparkles brilliantly in the sunlight. She nods when she notices his seriousness and we move away from the others. Riley follows us curiously.
Max tells Angela everything we witnessed in the forest. After only a sentence, Angela calls to her husband, Gerald, so that he can hear the story as well. She grabs Max’s arm fiercely as he continues his tale. It's as though she thinks touching him will tell her if he is telling the truth or not.
When he is finished with his story, Angela turns to her husband. “Gather some of the older hunters at once. We have to know if war is headed our way. If we have to leave, I would rather do so as soon as possible.”
The folds of skin at Gerald’s neck crinkle like baked parchment as he nods. He turns and hurries down the hill, his old knees slowing him only slightly.
Angela touches me on the shoulder. “You're very brave. Thank you for giving us this warning.”
“I wish I hadn’t seen it,” I admit.
“I know, child,” Angela replies. “But we must look to the camp and its protection now.” She looks us over again. “Can one of you lead us to the site? I know it's a lot to ask, but we have to see it.”
“I can do it,” Max says immediately. I know he doesn’t want to go back. He doesn't want to see the dead again and take the risk that the RFA is coming. He's doing it to protect me.
“We can both go,” I say.
“Absolutely not,” Max says. “There’s no reason for you to go back.”
“I have as much reason as you do,” I reply defensively, hating that he's treating me like a child. I may be his little sister, and he's looked after me his whole life, but I don’t like it when he acts like I can’t do all the same things he can do. Our training has been the same.
"You just said it was awful," Max tries another tactic. "You really want to see all that again?"
"I'm going, and that's final!" I say.
Angela steps between us. She's too impatient to listen to our bickering. "I don't care who goes. But we need to leave immediately."
"Can I come?" Riley asks hopefully.
"Absolutely not," Angela says. "Maximus and Ambria are necessary for us to assess the situation. You're not."
Riley crosses her arms and her expression turns angry. "That's not fair!"
"I should think not," Angela says pointedly. "Now go back to your mother. She needs your help making clothes for our people...And don't disappear to daydream like you normally do. As of right now, the outside is strictly forbidden to anyone who isn't trading or hunting.”
Riley's face changes from a dark shade of cinnamon to parchment white. Her mouth drops open in disbelief. "We can't go out?"
I know her emotion. Watching the road and spying on the city are her only sources of entertainment. She's been watching the road and dreaming of leaving camp since we were both eight years old.
"Not until we know more about what's going on. Now go on, get. I don't have time to argue with you right now. Bigger things are going on than your need to daydream about things that will never happen," Angela says.
Riley looks at Angela for a long minute. The pale color changes to red with her anger. She wants to argue. She knows better. Angela has all the appearance of kindness, right up until the moment someone makes her mad. She's fierce when angry. Riley spins on her heels and storms down the slope. I know she's not going back to her mother.
Angela shakes her head at Riley's back and looks us over again. Her eyes linger on Max's face. She can see the tension between us. "Figure it out," she tells us.
She follows Riley's path down the bank and Max turns to look at me aggressively again. He doesn't like that I'm so determined to go with him. "You don't have to go just because I'm going. This isn't a competition."
"I know that," I reply, though the only reason I
want to go is because he's going and I feel strangely competitive about proving I'm as brave as him. It's a lie, of course, as his bravery is unmatched.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Max asks.
“Nope,” I reply.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Max says. He sighs dramatically.
“I plan on it,” I say.
Max looks over his shoulder at the people in the garden. They're all staring at us. They can sense something serious has happened. One of them will ask what's wrong in a minute. Max and I don't want to lie to them. It's time to go.
We wait for Angela and the others at the entrance to the shield. Max paces. I fidget. Anyone who catches sight of us stares.
Ten minutes later, they finally join us. Angela has a canvas bag over her shoulder and a pistol at her belt. Gerald has a rifle and several knives strapped to his body. Five others have joined them. They are the fiercest fighters in camp. All of them are ex-soldiers from the rebel army. I know them very well. They've all looked out for us for as long as I can remember. Veronica, Macy, James, Fred, and, of course, Devlin look back at us.
Devlin stands off to the side. Unlike the others, he's calm, almost indifferent, about the situation. He's not radiating with tension and fear. He looks as bored as Riley usually does when she's faced with the truth of making clothes or soap for the camp. He has a long scar along his chin and an eyelid that drops slightly. He's never told me how his injuries happened. His body ripples with capable movement and speed. I've never seen him in a real fight, as the others in camp give him a wide berth, but I know he's never lost one.
“Okay...Show us the way,” Angela says. She opens the door via the fingerprint reader on our side and then gestures us through impatiently.
Max walks through first, his head lifted proudly. He has lost all outward appearance of fear. He wants to prove to the other hunters, particularly Devlin, that he's brave and can handle the tension. I follow on his heels, indifferent to how I appear to the others, and we hurry back to the fight. It takes us longer because Angela and Gerald are not able to run very fast.
When we reach the caves again, nothing has changed about the area. The scene is just as graphic and strangely prosaic. Gerald kneels next to one of the rebels and touches her neck softly.
"This one is alive," he says. "Barely."
"See what you can do for her," Angela says.
"You should let her be," Devlin interjects.
"I can't do that," Angela replies.
"You're not seriously contemplating taking the survivors back with us, are you?" Devlin asks, no longer looking bored. His expression is intense and his eyes are narrowed. He might have been a rebel during the war, but he no longer cares for them. He talks about their war-mongering and lack of clear vision every time he's deep in the bottle. I share his opinions, but I don't know why he's so worried about helping the injured or why he's looking at Angela so suspiciously.
"We can't just leave them," Angela replies.
"Of course we can," Devlin scoffs. "It'll be safer for everyone."
"When we fought in the war, we left no one behind," Angela points out.
"Yeah, and we lost," Devlin replies darkly.
"We take the survivors," Angela says firmly. "We'll do what we can for them. We should hurry. I don't want to get caught unawares."
"And the RFA?" Devlin asks. "Will you risk their wrath? You know how they feel about camps like ours. They're all rebel hideouts to them. They'll kill us."
Angela hesitates. She doesn’t like the idea of government agents in her home any more than the rest of us do. She spots the drone lying broken in the woods. The relief dawns on her face. It's proof that the government won't risk another drone on the situation. They're too necessary for the protection of the city. It's also proof that the city knows about the fight.
"The RFA should be here in an hour or so. They'll collect their people and see to their care. That'll keep the law off our backs. We'll take the others and care for them...It’s a better fate for them than what the government will do to them. And we might be able to establish some trade from the whole deal.”
She's doing a lot of hoping.
"They're rebels," Devlin points out, not liking the idea of the rebels at camp anymore than he does the RFA soldiers. "They don’t have anything to trade."
"Never discount something until you have solid proof,” Angela replies sharply. She's done arguing. Her mind has been made up. She scans the woods for a moment. "I want you to scout the area and let me know if anyone is closing in on the camp. And see what you can do about hiding our trail."
"You trust me to be around the government and not do something about it?” Devlin asks. His words are harsh and unforgiving. He's mocking her.
"You’re the best scout we have," Angela says. Her eyes assess him coldly. "When you’re not drunk that is. Protect the camp. And radio if you find anything worth mentioning."
Devlin nods and starts to turn away. Max stops him with a hand on his arm. Devlin turns back reluctantly. I can sense Devlin's anger. Its focus is entirely on Angela. He doesn't want to take it out on us. "Do you need help?" Max asks eagerly.
Devlin looks Max over for a second. Though Devlin is irritated, his expression softens. He's always had a soft spot for Max. He shakes his head and glances at me before his eyes move away again. "Nah. You'll just get in my way."
His eyes move to rake the broken bodies around us. I wonder if his desire to be alone has something to do with the deaths. He's looking out for Max the way he's always looked out for him. Max is disappointed, but he doesn't argue. He knows better.
Devlin shifts his attention back to Angela. His eyes hold uncertainty. He doesn’t trust her judgment. It's not a new sentiment. He's complained about Angela and her decisions around camp almost as much as he has the rebels. He doesn’t trust her, for a reason he has never explained to us.
"Keep an eye on camp for me. They might be headed your way," he adds to Max.
Max nods, still disappointed but unwilling to show it to Devlin. Devlin disappears behind a tree silently, leaving us to face the memories of the blood and violence alone.
Chapter 3
Controllers (Book 1) Page 2