Three (Article 5 #3)(69)

“When the old man saw that his grandson had stolen his mother’s basket he told him of the two wolves battling inside of him,” said Jesse, his voice deeper somehow. Wiser. “The first wolf feeds on anger and fear. Weakness and lies. He is thin with sickness and doubt, but fights with sharp teeth and long claws. The other is clean and good. He is bravery and kindness and truth, and his coat is always stained with the blood of the wounds given by his brother.

“This frightened the boy, who asked his grandfather which wolf would eventually destroy the other.”

Jesse lifted his chin and looked directly at Chase. “Which wolf wins, nephew?”

All eyes turned to face us.

Chase cleared his throat.

“The one you feed,” he said.

A reflective quiet fell over the circle, the crackling and pop of wood Jesse’s only applause. Since seeing him with the president, my opinion of him had grown softer. I hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning his nephew, but I could see now why Chase had.

I rose and offered Chase my hand.

“Come dance with me,” I said.

With a laugh he reached for me, and I had to lean all my weight back in order to pull him up.

“No one’s dancing anymore,” he said, a small dimple forming on one cheek. It was true; the musicians were facing each other now, speaking a language I didn’t know.

“Come dance with me,” I said again. I’d come to understand something while Jesse was talking. There was more to me than what I’d become, a part only Chase could access. And if I didn’t feed it, it would die.

With both of my hands surrounding his, I led him over to the space before the musicians. People cheered for us but I barely heard them. The old president smiled my way but I wasn’t embarrassed. Chase’s fingers spread around my waist and dragged my hips close, and his back rounded beneath my grasp. He took the lead, rocking gently from side to side, leading me, guiding me. Reminding me.

“There you are,” he whispered in my ear. “I found you.”

We danced until the last musician packed up his instrument and disappeared into the woods. And then I led Chase up past the falls, to the place where he could finally take a bath.





CHAPTER


17


THE next morning we left before dawn in a truck with a newly patched tire. The previous night we’d revised our trip, accounting for this unexpected stop, and mapped out the rest of our journey based on the locations of the posts DeWitt had given us. Our next stop was in central Tennessee. The refugees stayed behind with the others, and as we descended from the mountains, I watched the compound blend with the low-hanging clouds and couldn’t help but think there was a storm coming.

Outside Tennessee I returned to the back of the truck, surrounded by my Statutes. We’d left some behind at the president’s camp for the soldiers to spread around the nearby towns, but the bulk would be distributed by the MM. I wondered how many had already been stuck to houses, schools, and shops around the Midwest.

The truck was stopped once at a road block; I heard the voices of the soldiers outside questioning our purpose. Not more than five minutes passed before we moved on, but I don’t think I truly breathed until we were back to driving at a steady pace.

DeWitt had given us the location of a contact in Chattanooga, and we parked on the second floor of an old aquarium parking garage to wait.

An hour passed before they arrived. Three women, all dressed in Sisters of Salvation uniforms. The oldest had to be in her seventies; her silver hair was pinned back, and her skirt was pulled up just below her bra. The youngest would have been my mother’s age. She was pretty, but had a sour look on her face, and tried to hide the gun in her waistband with an oversized blouse. The third looked too polished to be a Sister; her raven hair hung in short, neat curls around her high cheekbones. She held a notepad and a pencil in one hand, and made me nervous.

“Three of you,” said the old woman. “Three of us. Quite a coincidence.”

“There’s no coincidence,” said Jesse, and I winced, thinking that Billy would have made four. The woman nodded.

“You’ll forgive us for not bringing you home to the roost,” said the old woman, holding Chase’s hand while she spoke. “Given the circumstances with the other posts, we’d rather not risk discovery.” Her voice was brittle, but her back was ramrod straight.

“We understand,” said Chase.

The woman with the notepad raised her brows at me. “I have to admit, I never thought I’d see you two alive.” There was something familiar about her voice, the way she articulated every single word. The muscles in my shoulders tensed.

“Faye,” warned the sour-faced woman.

“You have powerful friends,” she said, tapping her pencil on the paper.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.

“Faye Brown,” she answered with a little smirk.

“AKA Felicity Bridewell,” said Sour Face.

“The reporter,” I recognized, and felt my lips draw back. “You reported on Truck’s execution.”

“And my AWOL,” said Chase. “You almost got us arrested.”

The farmhouse with the barred windows. The stolen bike. Our escape in the middle of the night. The memories were all too clear.

“No,” she said. “You almost got you arrested. I just made you famous for it.”