Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(48)

As I looked around I found my earlier assessment had been correct. We’d been brought in through the loading docks to a factory floor, where several monstrous silver machines waited, dormant. A black rubber belt stuck out like a tongue from a gaping hole in the machine on the left, and upon it at even intervals rested neat stacks of paper, waiting to be loaded into various sized boxes near where we’d parked.

“The lovely Sister has informed us that y’all are taking the Tubman express to the safe house,” said Polo. “Feel free to use the amenities, grab a delightful Horizons bottled water, and make yourself at home.”

“Such hosts.” Cara winked at Marco as she slid by them into a small office where the water was located. Polo whistled, an appreciative gaze trailing after her.

“How long until the carrier returns?” asked Chase.

Marco’s shoulders fell. “They’re in such a hurry to leave, Polo.”

Polo nodded somberly. “Is it me? Am I unlikeable, Marco?”

“You do smell a bit…”

“Later today?” Chase pressed.

“Oh no.” Marco shook his head. “He was just through. Tomorrow morning at the earliest. Besides, you can’t make it across the Red Zone border before curfew. Such an attempt would mean certain death.”

“So dramatic,” chided Polo.

Chase and I shared a glance; we’d tried to cross into a Red Zone once, and nearly been arrested. If not for Chase’s smooth talking, we might not have made it through.

I stepped closer to the black belt, leaning over the nearest stack of papers.

“Look,” I whispered to Chase. Statute Circulars. We had come to an MM Statute Printing Plant. I thought of all the times I’d seen them—at school, on the windows of businesses, even on my own front door when my mother and I had been arrested. I wondered if they’d all come from here.

“We’re spending the night?” Tucker asked with a sigh.

“I can try to find you a pillow,” offered Marco.

“I’m not staying the night,” said Sean. “I’m taking the truck to Chicago.”

“We’re taking the truck to Chicago,” I corrected.

A small grin fought its way through his exhaustion. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes were bloodshot. When he turned to the side, I could see the copper streaks that had soaked through the back of his uniform—he hadn’t yet attended to his burns from the fire. Feeling the weight of Chase’s stare, I climbed back into the truck and searched for the first-aid kit.

“Wrong,” sang Polo. “You won’t make Chicago before nightfall and Horizons drivers have to obey the curfew. Only soldiers can go out after dark.” He popped his collar importantly.

Sean blinked, obviously having forgotten this information. He sighed in frustration. I found the first-aid kit behind one of the boxes and sat on the bumper, motioning for him to sit beside me.

“Since we’re all sharing,” said Cara, returning from the office with several plastic bottles cradled in her arms, “I’m cutting out. I’ve got family in town. My cousin lives here.”

My brows knitted together. I’d never heard she had family here, but then, I didn’t know she had family anywhere—we’d never talked about that. I worried the circular medallion around my neck, feeling the smooth, puckered flesh beneath it had seared into my skin. It stung fiercely, and reminded me of how she’d disappeared from the Wayland Inn during the fire, how she and Tubman had separated sometime after they’d left with the truck full of refugees. Like Tucker, I had a grim feeling she wasn’t telling us everything.

She passed me a bottle of water, which I guzzled, spilling streams of it down my chin. I wasn’t sure anything had ever tasted so good. The others followed Marco and Polo, who announced that there was food in their office.

Sean had a hard time removing his arms from the Horizons uniform, so I helped, cringing when the fabric stuck to his back. He sat bolt upright, the heat wafting off his skin.

“I can clean it, but we don’t have a big enough bandage,” I said, fighting the nausea. An angry red welt spanned from his shoulder to the opposite side of his waist, surrounded by smaller cuts and burns. Some of the skin had already been sloughed away when he’d removed his shirt.

“It looks like something fell on you.” I could still feel the burst of flames when the ceiling had nearly toppled on my head.

“Honestly I don’t remember. I guess that’s probably better.” With effort that had nothing to do with physical pain, he twisted so that he could look into my face.

“I never should have let you guys leave without me,” he said.

Gently, I cleaned his back with a damp rag. The black film wiped away, making his injuries less monstrous. I couldn’t help but think about how Chase’s shoulders were wider, how he, too, had a scar, one I didn’t know the origin of, that looked like the swipe of a giant set of claws from the side of his ribs to his spine.

“I know why you did.” Tucker had information on Rebecca—at least that was what Sean thought. If I’d thought someone had information on Chase, I would have stayed, too.

Sean looked through the glass office window at my mother’s killer. “Can I trust him?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“I don’t know,” I said finally, apologizing when he winced.