Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(27)

I looked around for the first time as Cara quickly repeated what the soldiers had told us about the sniper. The room was almost completely empty and held the sharp twinge of black mold. The metal racks that had once held displays of colorful, folded clothes were all absent. The dressing rooms in the back were empty but for the glimmering cobwebs that stretched from wall to wall. Though the room held evidence of past breakins, no one had been behind these locked doors for a year, maybe longer.

“I bet it’s true,” I heard Riggins say. “Enlistment is a perfect cover, think about it. You could tear the infrastructure down from the inside, and no one would ever know.” I was sure he’d raised his voice on the last bit so I could hear.

The wind brought a new wave of hail slapping against the front of the building. As I made my way back I was surprised to see that Riggins and Sean had switched clothing. Already damaged from the Square, the uniform jacket was a snug fit over Riggins’ thicker torso, but though the existing stitches strained they would hold as long as he didn’t move too much. Sean placed the wet cap atop his head.

“Riggins is taking my place,” Sean said, in answer to my baffled expression. “The new recruit’s supposed to be waiting at the Red Cross Camp. I’ve still got to bring him in.”

“Sean, maybe you shouldn’t…” I couldn’t help thinking Rebecca would want me to stop him somehow. “We can all go later. Together.”

He sent me a tight smile. “It’s better I go now. Before the radios are back up and the city’s swarming with units on foot looking for the sniper.” He made a point, but that didn’t mean I liked it.

“Time’s up,” Chase called from the back of the room. “The alleys are clear.”

I looked at Sean, wishing I could say something more to convince him to stay. Odd how much had changed between us in such a short time. Once I’d thought him just another vacant, shallow soldier, but so much more existed just beneath the surface. He was a good friend, and I worried for him.

“Be careful, okay?” I said. “The radios are still out.”

“Sure, Mom,” he said. I narrowed my eyes, but pulled him close and wrapped my arms around his shoulders all the same.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said quietly before he drew away.

We made our way to the back exit, Sarah hanging close to my side. I patted her shoulder. The unbeaten corner of her mouth lifted a little.

“It’s not far,” I said. But though I’d seen the checkpoint on a map, I had no idea how long it would take to actually get there.

Chase kicked out the back door just as he had the front, with a grunt and a powerful thrust that sent the wood crackling and the remaining glass shattering across the black pavement. The pressure from the storm had increased. I used the handkerchief to latch my short, black hair down, and grabbed a ripped poster outlining the Moral Statutes off the ground to hold over Sarah’s head.

Then we ran.

We raced through the narrow alleys, silent but for the patter of hail. Riggins took the lead, gun drawn but down at his side. I glanced back every few steps to make sure Chase was still behind me. My heart was pounding. No more soldiers, I prayed.

We crossed one last major intersection, beneath a dead traffic light, but found it deserted. The main roads had been cleared of abandoned cars when the area became a Yellow Zone, but cruisers still patrolled this area so we had to be watchful. I held my breath until we reached the back lot of a closed drugstore.

Past the barred back door, surrounded by overgrown hedges, was the vehicle entrance of East End Auto. Three metal garage doors were corroded by orange rust, and on the customer entrance beside it was an OUT OF BUSINESS sign in bold, red letters. Just below it, a message was hand-painted on a rectangular scrap of tin: One Whole Country, One Whole Family. The FBR motto, minus the flag and cross emblem.

Chase and I had seen this on the side of the checkpoint on Rudy Lane. We’d seen it again tagged on a grounded eighteen-wheeler when we’d found out about the Knoxville carrier. It was everywhere there was resistance, inconspicuous to those expecting to see MM propaganda, but obvious to anyone searching for those six words alone.

Cara stepped to the front, turned her back on the garage, and kicked it with her heel three times in quick succession, three times slowly, and three times quickly again. I could barely hear the clang over the whipping wind.

I gave Chase a puzzled look as he moved beside me. His jet-black hair was dripping tiny streams down his jaw, which he wiped on his shoulder irritably.

“SOS,” he answered. “Morse code.”

Nothing happened.

I ran my hand over Sarah’s arms, trying to keep her warm, but the cool air had prickled her skin with goose flesh. Behind blue lips her teeth chattered.

Riggins grabbed the Statute poster I’d taken from the store to shield Sarah. The paper was already translucent and turning to mush.

“Hey!” I said, pulling Sarah as close to the building as possible to shield her from the weather. It wasn’t yet safe to remove the cuffs; someone could spot us. Chase was eyeing the alleyway we’d come from apprehensively.

“Article Nine,” read Riggins, and I stiffened. Last I checked there were only eight. This new addition had been added recently.

He laughed caustically. “Citizens knowingly or unknowingly assisting those in violation of the Moral Statutes are hereby denied trial and shall be punished to the full extent of the law. Now isn’t that ironic?”