Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(43)

We were bright red and streaked with soot—awfully suspicious to those who waited down on the street.

“Clean off,” I said. We flipped our clothing inside out. I wiped my face on my forearms, but it just seemed to smear the black.

“That’s it, move out,” commanded Chase. Sean was sturdier on his feet now, but not by much.

Chase knew the way from having searched this building a few days ago. We followed him to the dark stairway and began our descent. My muscles gripped with every step, and my throat burned with thirst. I longed to rinse the fire from my eyes, but there was no time.

I watched Billy, worried he might try to bolt. My burned hands knotted in his charred shirtsleeve, but he shook me off and pushed forward to the front.

Finally, we reached the exit.

With my heart jammed up my windpipe, I stepped out onto the narrow, one-way street, desolate with all the action occurring next door. Over my shoulder the civilians were rioting, still attacking the soldiers with their fists and their curses. They’d succeeded in breaking the front lines, as so many soldiers were now dedicated to shooting upward through the smoke toward the roof. It was impossible to tell in all the chaos if our people had hit anyone.

My mind turned to Riggins and his last words, urging me to go. The sniper. I should have seen it earlier. The pieces fell into place now that I’d had a moment to breathe, and with them came a prickling dread. He’d changed around me, maybe sacrificed himself for me, because he—like the woman in Tent City—thought I was someone I wasn’t.

I glanced back for Chase, and instead saw Tucker. My thoughts shifted. Hardened. I remembered why I hated him, why I could never trust him. But somehow something had changed between us. He’d waited for Sean. He’d pushed me over the burning stairs and possibly saved my life.

Screams stole my focus. The roof of the Wayland Inn was collapsing. The fire had taken over, clawing angrily at the blackened sky.

“Wallace!” Billy shouted.

Chase hauled him to the opposite side of the road, where we could no longer see our fallen headquarters. When we were out of sight from the Wayland Inn, we ran.

“The Red Cross Camp,” I heard Sean say to Chase as we caught our breath in an alley.

“Aren’t there any more of you?” Tucker asked through labored breaths. “Another base or something?”

“The garage,” I said. East End Auto. I didn’t like Tucker asking that question, and I didn’t like leading him to where the carrier met refugees, but we were out of options. “Cara’s waiting there.”

I hoped she was still waiting there. I didn’t know how much time had passed. More than an hour, at least.

We took side streets, staying away from the Red Cross Camp and the Square. With all patrol cars pulled into the fire, the back roads were clear. The breath seared my sore lungs, but there was no time to rest.

Finally we reached the garage, and without delay, Chase pounded the code—SOS—into the flimsy metal.

Sweat streamed into my eyes. One minute passed. Then another.

She was gone. We’d waited too long.

Frustration consumed me. I was just about to kick the door when the bolt inside released, and the metal rose to hip height. Cara and I came face-to-face as I swooped under the threshold.

Her face lifted in surprise when she registered the group.

“You’re all that’s left?” she said, glancing between us. Her eyes hardened when no one responded.

“Tell me you have keys to that truck.” Chase pointed to the yellow Horizons distribution vehicle. The garage didn’t smell damp as it had during the storm. Now it was dry, and cold, like the inside of a tomb.

Cara lifted a key ring from the pocket of her Sisters of Salvation skirt and held them up for us to see. I nearly cried with relief.

“When’s Tubman get back?” Sean’s voice was a tempered groan.

“We need to get to the safe house,” Chase explained. “All units have pulled into the city to look for resistance. The roads should be clear, at least until we pass city limits.”

“I don’t know when Tubman’s getting back,” she said, her voice smaller than I’d expected.

“Weren’t you with him?” I nearly shouted.

“We got separated,” she said smartly. I wanted to shake her. She turned back to the others. “I know a place, though. A checkpoint in Greeneville. We can hide there if we can get out of the city.”

“And past the highway patrol.” Tucker siphoned in an impatient breath. I watched his face change from speculation to acceptance, and wondered what his angle was.

Cara rolled on. “Tubman makes a stop there. We meet up with him, we get our ride to the safe house.”

The blood was still pumping through me. It was as good a plan as we were going to get.

“Find me a delivery uniform,” Sean said. “I’ll drive. Cara can sit up front and give me directions. We’ll tell them we’re going to a soup kitchen.” I winced as he pulled the remnants of his T-shirt over his head. He blinked for several seconds, placing a hand on the bumper for support as Cara disappeared down the stairs.

Chase jerked the back of the truck open; it clacked against its rickety metal runners.

“I’ll drive,” he said. “You can barely sit up.”

“No.” Billy was shaking his head. “We can’t leave Wallace here. We can’t. He’ll come, just wait a minute.” His track was stuck on repeat.