Three (Article 5 #3)(64)

Chase had said that Jesse had served in the army before the War—I remembered a photo that had hung in the hallway of his home when we’d been little: Jesse—much younger, though just as serious—in a dress uniform seated before the American flag.

The man before him hesitated, then released his weapon to its shoulder strap, and returned the salute.

“Lance Corporal Blackstone,” he answered. A smile split his face, revealing white teeth. “U.S. Marines.” Jesse gave a short groan as if this were funny.

Captain Blackstone lifted a radio from his belt and stepped away from the truck. The others didn’t move. I found myself watching the women—one had spiked hair, the other a slicked-back ponytail. In uniform they looked absolutely fierce.

Not more than a few minutes passed before a Jeep came careening down the road and slammed to a stop before us. A man in his mid-forties with a black goatee grabbed the overhead bar and swung out, shoved past Lance Corporal Blackstone, and came toe to toe with Jesse. He was easily six inches shorter and swimming in his faded red sweatshirt.

“No,” he said emphatically. “Not this one. Not after last time.”

“Uh-oh,” I whispered. Chase stepped out of the cab but was yarded by the two women. I scrambled out over the seat to get outside.

“Max,” said Jesse between his teeth. “Nice to see you.”

“Don’t get smart, Waite,” said Max. “Thought we made it clear you were done here.”

Jesse’s shoulders slouched as his hands came to rest in his pockets. “Is that what we said?”

“Go,” barked Max. “Turn this rig around.”

“Not a lot of room…”

“Then back it down the hill,” said Max clearly. “Blackstone? Help Sergeant Waite—”

“And my tire’s blown out. Don’t know if you saw that.”

I looked down, now noticing the strip of nails half-buried beneath the dirt.

“We’ll get that fixed right up for you,” said Max, his grin as genuine as an MM officer’s.

“Sir,” said Chase. “I don’t know what he’s done—I’m sure it wasn’t good—but we’ve got twenty people in the back in need of refuge.”

Max turned, as if noticing us for the first time.

“And you are?” he asked.

Chase stood tall, but didn’t salute as Jesse had.

“Chase Jennings,” he said.

“Careful,” said Jesse. “He might bite. He is related to me after all.”

“Ember Miller,” I said, giving Jesse a look.

Max scoffed. “Of course you are.”

“Sir,” came a voice from behind the truck. Another man in fatigues came around the compartment, followed first by Kaylee, pale and drenched with sweat, and then half a dozen others.

“We come in peace,” said Jesse, half-kidding.

Max turned back, laughing suddenly. An instant later the sound silenced, replaced by a sneer.

“Perfect,” he said, muttering something else unintelligible as his skin turned blotchy red. He stalked back to the Jeep, the engine still thrumming.

“Blackstone, clear the truck and take these people up the hill.” He hit the gas hard, spraying us with mud as he spun the car and sped back up the mountain pass.

An hour later we were searched, disarmed, and informed in no uncertain terms that we were not to tell another living soul what we found here. Their demands raised my curiosity, but as we walked into camp I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointment. This was not the sprawling campus of Endurance with its gardens and livestock. There were a few horses watching us with interest from a round pen beside a small stable, but otherwise the compound looked more like a quiet mountain resort. The single lane beside a river was lined with small log cabins, many of which had tendrils of smoke spiraling from their chimneys. There was no fortified wall, no team looking down their rifles at us from the trees. Still, it had an air of secrecy about it, like the whole place might disappear if you blinked too long. I wondered what was here that they were so intent on protecting.

We were given the option to clean up or go to the “cookhouse” for food. As hungry as I was, I couldn’t relax until I scraped some of the sweat off. Some of the other girls, Kaylee included, lined up behind me, and with a quick nod to Chase I was first to follow the soldiers up a path beside the river. Through the mist the crash of water could be heard, like a fall was somewhere near, and as we drew closer, the path opened to a swimming hole.

Now that we’d delivered the refugees we’d have to move out, but I would have been lying if I’d said the bath didn’t make me feel better about what we were about to do.

*

LATER, I hiked down the main road of the camp toward the fires that were already lit outside the cookhouse. There were more people milling around now—they seemed to come out of the woodwork, out of the very mountains. Men and women. Dogs, barking and chasing after the children who threw sticks for them. None dressed in uniforms we’d seen before, but that didn’t mean they weren’t soldiers. There was an air of dignity about the adults. Of pride, despite the fact that they looked like they’d gotten their clothes from the same donation bins I used to. They smiled and waved, said hellos and shook my hand. It was so welcoming, I nearly forgot about all the soldiers protecting this place. Where Endurance had felt like a resistance post, this felt more like home. The camp turned lively with conversation, and though I knew we had to move on, part of me wanted to stay.