Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(88)

So I lingered on the knife’s edge, balancing between recklessness and despair.

I tried to stop the pictures, but they came anyway. The darkness set the scene, and like a movie, Chase’s memories played before my vision.

My mother in the cell. Alone, like I was now, but scared. Chase coming in, backed by Tucker Morris and other soldiers. Chase’s raised gun. Had she fought? I bet she had. Then fear, followed by compassion, and her whispered plea to protect me. His twisted understanding that he was trying to do just that by killing her. But he couldn’t kill her. His faceless CO did that. While he was forced to watch.

I had blamed Chase for her death. The facts had seemed so clear to me. But when I reviewed the scenario, they became distorted, out of focus. He’d been the scapegoat of the MM’s wrath just for being himself. Blaming him no longer made sense.

I could not stop the tears now. They flooded me, as did my grief, my sorrow, my hatred. So much deeper was my self-loathing than what I had seen reflected in Chase’s eyes. And so much more justified.

I had made a horrible mistake.

Chase had come back after the War to find me. He had reported for the draft because I had told him to. He had always tried to protect me, even when it included the possibility of losing his life or taking another. His lies were meant to be a shield. That was wrong, but I couldn’t entirely fault him for hiding the truth once I thought about what he’d faced.

He had wanted me safe all along. I had expelled that, shoved it back in his face. I had tried to hurt him more than he was already hurting. And I had succeeded.

It was Sean’s words that slid through my torment.

It’s them Miller. Not us. It’s the FBR that should be sorry.

I understood this now, more than ever before. What had happened was not Chase’s fault. It wasn’t mine; it wasn’t even really Tucker’s. It was the FBR. The president. They were making everyone suffer, and those who didn’t feel the pain had been brainwashed.

I twisted the little gold ring around my finger vigorously.

By morning I had my plan.

I was leaving this base. I was going to the resistance and then to find Chase, wherever he was. I had to try to make things right. For him. For my mother. For Rebecca.

And if I couldn’t, then I would die trying.

*



TO my horror, a second soldier was “completed” in the morning. A man I had fed less than a day before lay stretched across the floor, half beneath the bed. His lips were white, his face gray. His eyes were open and dead.

I was just as revolted. I couldn’t help but wonder if I could have stopped it. If I could have saved him. I would never get used to this, as Delilah clearly had.

We followed the same protocol from the day before. Only this time, I swallowed down the bile creeping up my throat to focus on the intricacies of the task. Which way Delilah exited the elevator. The dark hallway downstairs that no one seemed to occupy. Every instance she used her key. Where exactly she left the cart at the crematorium.

I had to get it perfect. The next time I made this trip, I’d be alone.

We had more mash from the cafeteria for lunch. It did little to calm my stomach, but I needed the fuel for what was to come.

At the end of the day, I followed Delilah into the storage room. I was wearing the blanket over my shoulders, even though the unit was warm during working hours. I needed Tucker to think I was grateful for his compassion, and he did. When I’d seen him earlier, he’d been the only guard not to balk at my appearance.

My acceptance of the gift made him feel like he was in control. Like I wasn’t a threat. He lowered his guard around me, which was exactly what I needed.

I watched Delilah as I had all day. I needed the master key hanging around her neck. She wouldn’t give it up; she was far too institutionalized. I was going to have to steal it. And to assure she wouldn’t sabotage the plan, I needed to gain the upper hand.

That was where Tucker came in.

Delilah was emptying her bucket of bleach and water into the utility sink as I approached.

“I’ve got to go talk to Morris,” I told her.

She waved her hand at me without looking up, but the color rose in her drooping cheeks. We both remembered the scene she had walked in on last night.

“I’ll come get you in the morning,” she said.

I nodded.

I forced myself to walk nonchalantly across the hall to Tucker’s office. The adrenaline coursed through my body as I anticipated what I had to do. Fighting the urge to glance nervously toward the door, I hugged the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

He was finishing paperwork, as he had been yesterday. He said nothing, only cocked an eyebrow up at me.

“I want to know about Rebecca Lansing.”

“You know the price for that.”

“I do.”

He put down the paperwork with a self-righteous smirk and rounded the desk.

“Then pay up.”

“Wait. I’m … afraid the guard is going to walk past.” I tried to sound nervous. I thought Tucker would like that. I played with the tips of my hair for effect.

“He just rotated through five minutes ago.”

“Just go check,” I said. “I don’t want any interruptions like last night.”

A glow spread across his face. “All right. Stay here.”

Pathetic.