Three (Article 5 #3)(30)

The static crackled over my nerves.

“We need to answer him.” I said, hoping this was clearer.

DeWitt appraised me with caution, then tilted his head in consent. The tech who’d found the signal stood and directed me into his chair, then moved a small black microphone close to my mouth. Chase bent over my shoulder.

“Ready?” asked the tech.

When I nodded he flipped another switch. A small red light on the board turned to green.

Apprehension seized me. Answering a call on a CB radio in the wilderness surrounded by people I knew was a lot different than receiving a transmission in Three’s operating room. Everyone was looking at me, and I was suddenly scared of saying the wrong thing.

“I can hear you,” I said. “I’m here.”

Static. And then, “About time.”

A grin came, unbidden and unwelcome. This was Tucker I was talking to, not a friend.

“What happened? You said you’d be there.”

“Our radio was damaged.”

Pause. “Are you okay?”

I wasn’t particularly comfortable with how worried he sounded. Chase huffed behind me, unwilling to believe the sentiment was genuine.

“You said you were hit. How are the drivers?”

Dread filled the moments that followed. Only the carriers knew where the other resistance pockets were—taking the posts’ reports had been their job with Three. If they were gone, the other bases wouldn’t receive warning about the safe house’s destruction, and communication between those fighting the MM would effectively stop.

“The one with the bad teeth is MIA. He never came back. I think … I think they might have him.”

I closed my eyes.

“The driver from Knoxville—he didn’t make it. I told you Grandma’s house was empty? He’d heard a tip of another place she’d relocated to so we went to check it out. It was like they knew we were coming. Me and a few other guys barely got out.”

The carrier, Tubman, came to mind, with his ragged scar and kind smile, opening the garage door to the auto shop in Knoxville where he hid refugees in need of a safe house.

I fumbled for words. Tucker’s raw confession had made me want to raise a shield between us. He must have sensed this, too, because before I could answer, he said, “How about you? Please tell me you found something. We could really use some good news.”

DeWitt moved beside me, watching me closely.

“We did,” I said. “Though not as many as we hoped for.” I couldn’t find it in my heart to have him relay the news to his team that so many had perished in the safe house. Not after all they’d been through.

Static. A short laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s good to hear your voice.”

Beside me, Chase stiffened.

As much as I hated to admit it, it was good to hear from Tucker, too. As crazy as it was, I was relieved he was alive. Still, his report was bleak. They’d been attacked. The resistance posts were being destroyed.

I looked to DeWitt, then to their map on the wall with the red pins. We needed to do something.

“Where are you?” Tucker asked.

Before I could answer, DeWitt flipped the switch. The green light turned red.

“Wait!” I tapped the microphone, then reached for his hand, still covering the switch. “Wait, we weren’t done!”

“He’ll attempt contact again tomorrow,” said DeWitt. “After he reaches the next post.”

I stood up, furious, the chair tipping behind me. “They might not make it until tomorrow! You heard him, they’re in trouble. The post—”

“We’re well aware of the issue,” he said.

My fists tightened at my sides. “Then you’ll send people to help them? Warn the other posts? You’ll do something.”

DeWitt’s lips formed a thin line. “Do not forget that you’re a guest in our home, Ms. Miller.”

“The carrier he was talking about—if they captured him like Tucker thinks, he’s as good as dead.”

DeWitt made no response. The eyes of the others in the room bore holes straight through me. I became instantly aware that Chase and I were outnumbered.

“How?” I asked, trying to keep myself calm. “How do you know they’ll go to the next post?”

“He’ll follow the carrier’s directives. That’s protocol in the case something like this happens. Unless, of course, you have reason to believe he would do something different?”

I shook my head, aware he was implying Tucker would run, or worse, go back to the MM. Just a week ago I might have considered it, but now, after hearing the distress in his voice, it didn’t seem possible.

“You were prepared for this?” I asked.

DeWitt inhaled. “We are prepared for many things.”

“Ember.” Chase was facing the opposite side of the room where a dozen pictures had been tacked to the wall.

I joined him, keeping my eye on DeWitt until the last possible moment. When I finally saw what Chase was staring at my hand rose to my mouth. I bit my knuckles to hold back the groan.

My mug shot was there, but only half was revealed, because overtop it lay another photo. A grainy black and white of the reception area at a hospital, just within the exit door, where two figures—a soldier and a Sister of Salvation—crouched over a body. The blood that spread from it was black, as if someone had spilled oil.