Three (Article 5 #3)(77)

“Different how?”

She combed her hair back over one ear. “I don’t know. Like you have a secret no one else knows.”

I liked that. A secret no one else knew.

For a few seconds the fear of what had happened to Sean had faded. The hole of his absence was filled with warm memories. It was like we were living in another time. But when it came back, it hurt twice as much.

“I almost left the kids,” she confessed. “All I could think was I had to get out of there. I couldn’t get caught again.”

I squeezed her hand. “Most people would have left them.”

“We were supposed to meet here. Why hasn’t he come back?”

“We’ll find him.”

But I didn’t feel so confident. The MM could have him. His car could have broken down or been held back by debris in the road. A throbbing began at the base of my skull. Sean had left Rebecca’s side, broken his promise not to leave her, to keep her safe. We had to find him.

“I can’t go with you, can I?” she said.

I knew this had been coming. If we were going to reach Tucker and search for Sean, we needed to be light and move fast. Even with Rebecca’s advancements, we couldn’t chance her safety, or her slowing us down.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She brushed away a tear impatiently.

“Stupid, stupid legs,” she said.

I put my arm over her shoulders, not knowing what else to do.

“Bring him back,” she said finally. “And both of you come back, too.”





CHAPTER


19


THE trip to the mini-mart would take nine hours, depending on the amount of wreckage on the highways and streets. We took the moving truck, leaving the sedan from Atlanta with the fuel gage on empty. I traded my Sisters of Salvation uniform for a pair of cropped pants and a hand-sewn tunic Chase had found, and left Rebecca with a quick, wordless hug.

I made a silent promise to myself that it would not be the last time I saw her.

Jesse drove while Chase took shotgun. I sat between them on the bench seat thinking of Tucker. It was strange and unsettling, but I found I wanted to see him again. I wanted to find out what had happened on his mission, and if he knew any more about DeWitt or the Chief of Reformation’s party, now only two days away. As we reached the highway, I flattened my hands over my thighs and turned my thoughts to Sean. I pictured him and Jack stranded on the side of the road beside a broken down car and hoped their delay was that simple.

The world passed by out of the side window. The sun grew hot, and the wind whipped my hair around my face. My worry edged into fear; the Red Zone was huge, the entire East Coast, and Sean could be anywhere within it. I imagined having to tell Rebecca we couldn’t find him, felt the hole punch through me as if she’d been the one telling me that Chase was lost.

Twice in the first hour we had to leave the main road because of abandoned cars and debris, and return to surface streets. Sean and Jack were nowhere to be seen.

I felt something brush against the back of my hand, and when I looked down, saw Chase’s knuckles. He stared straight ahead, so I did, too, but his fingertips continued to trace lines over the back of my hand, then around my wrist. It gave me hope.

In the afternoon, Jesse switched the radio to a frequency the injured had used to contact us when we were on our search for the survivors. We were within range now, and if their batteries were by some chance still working, we should have been able to pick up a signal.

No one was broadcasting.

The clouds stretched thin and high across a pale sky as we reached the outskirts of where the safe house had been. We parked several miles back, where a pile of rubble blocked the road. I searched for evidence of another car but was no longer surprised when I didn’t see one. Wherever Sean was, it was not here.

I slung a pack of medical supplies from the truck’s cab over my back. Chase took point, his gun held high and ready, while Jesse covered our backs. No one knew what to expect as we hiked through the high grass between the beach and what was left of the town, but we prepared for the worst.

It didn’t help that I had the skin-crawling sensation of someone’s eyes on my back.

“Here,” Chase said quietly as a stop sign on the main road came into view. Once we reached the street I recognized the area. Two half-burned houses, their remains still black and raw, butted up against an old shipyard where half a dozen boats were turned on their sides. Three blocks down was the mini-mart where the injured had taken refuge, and as we made our way toward it I counted how many places there were to hide.

The intersection before the mini-mart was empty. The gas pumps still stood, but their hoses were ripped away. In the sun outside the entrance a man in street clothes was seated on a metal chair. He was slumped forward, asleep, his hands on his lap, his chin on his chest.

His hair was blond and messy.

“Tucker.” I started forward, but Jesse snagged my forearm.

Muscles tense, I crouched beside him behind an overturned sailboat, twenty feet away. Chase crept forward, disappearing behind the shop on the opposite side of the street.

“Listen,” Jesse whispered.

Silence. Nothing but the birds and the crash of the waves at the beach. My blood began to buzz. No shadows moved behind the broken windows. Those that had stayed behind with the medic were hurt, and I had supplies on my back that could help.