Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(80)

My mind turned back to Rebecca, my fear for her swelling. “Why couldn’t the team break into the facility and get him? You said there aren’t many soldiers.”

The three Chicago boys glanced at one another warily.

“A Sister has to accompany any soldier into the building,” Truck told me. “And it’s not that Mags couldn’t rig that, but what were we supposed to do with him once we got him out? We can’t support that kind of care down here.”

Sean had had enough. He tore out of the car into the darkened passage.

I shook my head, wishing I could replay this conversation with a different outcome. But we’d come here for answers, and we’d gotten them.

I left the car and found Sean just outside, pacing.

“Sean,” I said. He didn’t stop. I stood in front of him. “Sean!”

“I still have to go. I have to see.” He crouched, hands on his head.

“Sean, stop it,” I said, grabbing his shoulders. “We’ll figure this out.”

“How? How are we going to do that?”

“I … I don’t know. Yet. I don’t know yet, okay? But we’ll think of something.”

He stood, shaking his head. “I should have gotten her out of there years ago.”

“Sean, it’s not your fault. If anyone’s, it’s mine.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I was supposed to look out for her.”

“Sean…”

“Chase got you out!” His voice was powerful enough to push me back a step. “Chase didn’t wait, but I waited. I kept waiting, thinking that there’d be a better time. She’d age out, and then I’d go AWOL…”

Sean was losing his control, and as he did, mine returned. My hands had captured his wrists, and squeezed when he tried to brush me off.

“Sean, listen to me.”

“I swear, if they’ve been towing her around the base…”

“Stop. They said it’s run by Sisters. I promise, if I have to go in there by myself and get her, I will, okay?”

“I should have—”

“We’ll tell Mags tonight we’re going to try Tucker’s contact.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying, but we had no other options. “We’ll see her tomorrow, okay?”

Finally, he blew out a strained breath.

“Dawn,” he said.





CHAPTER


17





WHILE Sean stayed in sick bay to question the Chicago resistance for more information, I ran back to the barracks to wake Chase. Now that I didn’t have to be strong for Sean, I became aware of the fear, rooting deep inside me. Rebecca was in more danger than I’d ever suspected. She’d been hurt—badly—and now they were torturing her, showing her off like that poor boy in the Square. I thought of Mags, cold and hard, standing in that window and shooting her own man. Mercy kill, the medic had said. We couldn’t do that to Rebecca, even if her life had become what they’d described.

Chase was not in the barracks.

I ran back past the showers, but he didn’t answer when I called his name.

I returned to sick bay. He wasn’t there either. Neither was Sean, or the Chicago guys.

We still had an hour until the meeting, but clusters of people were already filtering out of their respective stations and funneling toward what Truck had called the Loop, just beyond the mess hall. Sharp-smelling bodies surrounded me, bumping me, reminding me of the tight quarters in the Knoxville Square.

I searched for Chase, but would have settled for Sean or even Tucker. It made sense for Chase to go on to the meeting site without me; it’s where I would go if I’d woken unable to find him. But moving through the crowd of muscled arms and dismissing faces was about as easy as wading through quicksand; I kept getting stuck. Finally we passed the mess hall, where everyone who had just eaten was filtering out into the tunnel.

I saw the tall, athletic build and the golden hair, and staggered only momentarily before pursuing. I was sure it was Tucker this time. He was heading to the supply room—the opposite direction from the meeting. I lunged onto the platform and sprinted past the refrigerators and the counter made of shiny plane hull, to the back of the mess hall. Only a few stragglers remained. Most had left for the meeting.

A flash of movement near the coal carts caught my eye and I dashed after it, but the supply room was empty when I entered.

“Where’s the sniper fan club?”

At the sound of Tucker’s voice I spun back to the entrance that he now was framed within, the shadows over his face sending a chill straight to my bones. His eyes, pinched around the corners, looked edgy—like they had when he’d told us how Cara was killed.

I became acutely aware that it was just the two of us. My hand gripped the flashlight. When his head tilted curiously to the side I gritted my teeth.

“Not still worried about being alone with me, are you?”

He took a step toward me, and I moved back like the wrong end of a magnet.

“Guess that answers that question,” he said.

Laughter filtered through from the platform, not too far away. If Tucker tried anything, I could scream, and they’d be close enough to hear me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.