Three (Article 5 #3)(41)

It was a punishment I’d heard before—Wallace had given it to Billy back at the Wayland Inn. I saw in the way Billy’s shoulders hunched that he was remembering the same thing.

“Wait,” I said. “The team you sent after our people, are they back yet?”

DeWitt paused, turning to face all those close by who were now awaiting his response.

“If they were, you would know,” he said.

I stared at his back as he walked away. Waiting, trusting a man I barely knew to take care of something we should have been dealing with ourselves left me unsettled.

“Keep your ears open,” Chase said. “I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

He left with the other fighters before I could tell him about the fallen post.

*

CHASE did not return to the dorms that evening, and neither did Billy nor Jesse. They might have been sent out to rescue the thirteen remaining prisoners, or back to the safe house wreckage to gather our injured. They might be doing a hundred different things helpful to the cause, while the rest of us were told there was nothing more we could do tonight.

The top bunk was no wider than a cot, but without Chase it seemed too big and empty. It was the first night I’d spent without him since I’d been in the holding cells in Knoxville, a reminder that just made things worse. When I grew tired of staring at the door, I stared at the ceiling. But one by one the candles went out, and the conversations went quiet.

The dreams were coming; I could feel their black, slippery fingers wrapping around the edges of my mind. Without Chase’s arms around me, there’d be nothing to stop them. So I pinched myself awake.

My thoughts weren’t much better.

I made myself sick wondering who of Tucker’s team had survived the attack on the post, and who had been tortured alongside Truck—or who was being tortured right now—but it was useless.

The thought of Tucker dying for the resistance had me tossing and turning.

In the bunk below me, Sean and Rebecca were talking in hushed tones. I hung my head over the side.

“What do you know about the Chief of Reformation?” I demanded.

Sean was lying on his back, Rebecca curled against his side. She didn’t look up at me, but tightened her grip around Sean’s waist.

“Chancellor Reinhardt,” said Sean. “I know he’s hard to get to. People have been trying to take him out since the Reformation. He keeps a security detail around him all the time.”

I rested my cheek against the side rail, feeling the cool metal against my skin.

“He’s evil. He used to call for patients at the hospital to be brought to the base.” Rebecca paused. “When you came for me, I thought you might be with him. Before I saw that it was you, I mean.” Her voice was barely above a breath.

The circus, Truck had called it in Chicago. Where they paraded the injured around to deter others from breaking the rules. A sour taste formed in the back of my mouth. That Rebecca had ever been subjected to that fear made me hate Chancellor Reinhardt even more.

“Do you think the prisoners are back in Chicago?” I asked. But they must not have heard me, because Sean had turned on his side and was whispering something I couldn’t make out. I drew back, feeling distinctly like I was intruding on something private.

After a while I heard Rebecca giggle, a sound that pulled me momentarily from my thoughts. Then her breath caught and hitched, and the mattress groaned as their weight shifted.

I covered my ears.

Time seemed to stall. Each minute felt like an hour. After a while even Rebecca and Sean grew quiet. Too restless to wait for news any longer, I decided to take my chances with Rocklin.

Carefully, I climbed down the ladder, placing my feet, still in their boots, on the floor. The creak of the frame made me cringe, but no one around me moved.

On the bottom bunk Rebecca slept with her head on Sean’s shoulder, and I was reminded of a long time ago when she’d been the one sneaking out of the reformatory, and I’d been trying to follow.

Holding my breath, I tiptoed down the row, freezing every time someone shifted or murmured in their sleep. When I reached the door, I glanced out quickly, expecting to find Rocklin posted outside, but the entryway was clear. The torches on the path had been extinguished, and with only the moon to guide me, I sprinted around the back of the building. The trees were a quarter mile away, glowing a pale silver and swaying ever so slightly in the breeze. From beneath their curtain, a gravel road emerged, connecting to the cafeteria.

My heart was pounding. I didn’t know where I was going, and if I did find the fighters, I didn’t know how to find Chase among them.

A shadow crawled over the moon, and without further delay I carved through the untamed grass toward the trees. It would have been easier to take the road, but I didn’t want to get caught—which was stupid, of course. It wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong. They wouldn’t stop me from seeing Chase.

I slowed, then stopped, and stared up at the sky.

Things were supposed to make sense once we got here. We’d finally stopped running. This was a place where we were protected, where we could dig in and fight back. Instead I was dodging guards while people I’d fought beside died at the MM’s hand.

I crossed the tree line; the branches formed a canopy overhead, and the dried leaves crunched beneath each step. The way opened suddenly into a clearing where the moonlight, unobstructed by the trees, highlighted small wooden crosses jutting up from the ground in neat lines.