Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(2)

“Thank you, Houston,” said Wallace. “I think that’s the point.”

I shivered. Chase and I hadn’t left the Wayland Inn since we’d pledged to the resistance, almost a month ago. If possible, the city seemed even bleaker than when we had last seen it.

“Now,” continued Wallace. “Billy caught a radio thread yesterday on an upcoming draft in the Square. We don’t know when, but my guess is it’ll be soon, and they’ll be offering signing bonuses.”

“I didn’t get a bonus,” someone whispered.

“Rations, jackass,” muttered Sean.

A collective groan filled the hallway. Soldiers using the promise of food to recruit more soldiers. They’d have a whole new army in a week.

“And forgiveness of Statute violations, of course.” Wallace smiled cynically. More groans followed.

Work was slim these days. The only businesses still running required background checks, which meant applicants had better be compliant with the Moral Statutes—a list of regulations that took away women’s rights, mandated a “whole” family, and prohibited things like divorce, speaking out against the government, and, of course, being born out of wedlock, like me. This had always been one of the MM’s prime recruiting strategies. Men who couldn’t get a job because of their record could still serve their country. And even if it meant selling their souls, soldiers got paid.

“What’re we going to do about it?” Lincoln asked.

“Nothing,” said Riggins. “We hit something like that, they’ll smoke out this whole town till they find us.”

I straightened, envisioning the MM coming here, raiding the Wayland Inn. As far as they knew, Chase and I were dead, “completed” in the holding cells at the base. I’d made certain of it before our escape. We didn’t want to give them reason to believe otherwise.

Without looking over, Sean elbowed me in the ribs. I deflated, a shallow breath expelling from between my teeth.

“Quiet,” said Wallace when several people objected. He shook his head. “Riggins is right. They plugged up the soup kitchen for seventy-two hours after last month’s riot. Soon they’ll be compensating anyone willing to sell us out. We’ve got to be smart. Think.” He tapped his temple. “In the meantime, Banks has a report to make.”

I glanced over, surprised, as Sean shoved off the wall beside me. He and I had been up late together scanning the mainframe for facilities in Chicago, searching for Rebecca—my roommate and his girlfriend—who had been beaten and arrested the night I’d tried to escape reform school. He hadn’t mentioned that anything out of the ordinary had happened during his earlier shift in the Square.

“Yesterday on my way back from Tent City, I ran into a guy looking for trouble over by the Red Cross Station,” said Sean.

“What kind of trouble?” Chase’s dark gaze flicked to mine.

Sean scratched his jaw. “The kind that makes me think he was looking to join us. He was trying to convince a group of guys to take out the guards posted at the soup kitchen. Talking loud—too loud. Said he’d been in the base lately, that he knew things about it. I very politely told him to keep it down, and he called me a—”

“What did he know?” I interrupted.

“A lot,” said Sean. “He was just discharged last week. Dishonorably. He didn’t seem too pleased about it either.”

I could feel Chase’s tension from across the hall. A recently discharged soldier could have important information about the Knoxville base, he might even know how to break back in, but what if he recognized us? We’d only been there four weeks ago. He could have been one of those who had beaten Chase or even killed another prisoner.

“It’s a con,” said Riggins. “Banks is getting played. The FBR’s sending in a mole.”

Wallace, who’d been silent while Sean had spoken, cleared his throat. “That’s why we’re going to tail him. If he gets within ten feet of a uniform, cut him loose. I don’t want to take any chances with this one.”

“Then don’t,” I said before I could stop myself. “Maybe Riggins is right.” Riggins snorted as if to say he didn’t want my help.

“You think he didn’t say the same about you when you came here?” Wallace asked.

I felt myself shrink under our leader’s stare. Sean had brought Chase and me to the Wayland Inn with no more than his word that we weren’t going to spill its secrets.

“Besides,” he continued, patting the radio against his leg again. “If this guy can get us access into the base, imagine the damage we could do.”

The following silence was filled with consideration. The MM was stockpiling food—we’d seen the delivery trucks go in—and there were weapons, not to mention the innocent people being executed in the holding cells.

I shivered, remembering how I’d nearly been one of them.

Lincoln and Houston shoved each other excitedly, but several of the others didn’t seem so convinced. Clusters of arguments broke out, which Wallace silenced by assigning a detail to keep tabs on the new recruit. He tasked Sean with bringing him in.

Sean fell back beside me, grumbling something indecipherable. The more time he spent away, the less we had to focus on breaking Rebecca out of rehab in Chicago. Still, Sean was smart enough to know that in order to use the resistance’s resources, the resistance had to use him as a resource, so he did what he was told.