Breaking Point a5-2 Page 22

  The leader lowered his gun. “You got a name, Sister? Or should I just call you the Mouth?”

  I really didn’t like him. I wasn’t sure if he bought my disguise, or if he was simply mocking me, but my legs itched within the wool skirt, flexing and ready to run, and my jaw snapped shut.

  “No? Shame. How about you?” He turned to Chase. “Wouldn’t be Jennings, would it?”

  Chase stilled. My eyes widened. They had recognized Chase, not me, even with my photo posted. How did they know him? He didn’t seem to recognize them. He didn’t say a word.

  “Told you,” said Toothless. “Didn’t I tell you, Jack?”

  Jack grinned sadistically. “Maybe you can test out your theory.”

  “What theory?” I asked. No one answered.

  The third guard searched Sean and Tucker while Toothless came to pat me down. He was surprisingly appropriate—maybe because Chase watched him like a hawk. Still, there was too much pressure in the air. Something was wrong. The three shared too many knowing glances, too many sly smirks.

  They took our weapons. Two guns, and a screwdriver Tucker had stolen from Greeneville.

  Jack whistled. It was a piercing noise, one that pinpointed the back of my jaw and made me cringe. Toothless chuckled again.

  In moments we were surrounded.

  They came from every hidden corner of the graveled battlefield, encircling us, blocking us in. Thirty or more of the scariest people I’d ever seen. Brawny and sneering, tattooed and scarred, the type you’d find in a prison gang. Those closest were shooting hard stares our direction, making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. No one smiled except the guy with the baseball bat.

  My breath came faster. I glanced from side to side, suddenly aware of how close Chase had become. Sean drew in as well, blocking my right side.

  “See, we’ve got a problem,” hollered Jack, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We’ve been watching you all morning. Watched you drive up in your little MM cruiser and park in our garage. Watched you change out of your uniforms into street clothes—well, all except the Sister here. And the thing is,” he said, and smiled, stepping back to join the ring. “The thing is, we really don’t like snitches.”

  “I guess that’s one thing we have in common,” said Chase darkly.

  “Don’t piss him off, Jack,” chuckled Toothless. He seemed as relaxed as could be despite the tension.

  “Don’t think I can take him?” quipped Jack.

  “That’s over,” said Tucker. It was the first time he’d spoken since the arrival of the others. He almost looked humble with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders drawn forward. “He doesn’t do that anymore.”

  It finally occurred to me what was happening. These guys had been soldiers when Chase was. They’d seen him fight when the MM had forced him into the ring, trying to break him. A defensive wave rose within me. My fists bunched. I didn’t like this Chicago bunch, and I definitely did not like Tucker standing up for Chase.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Chicago boxing legend Chase Jennings!” Toothless trumpeted. Several people laughed, the anxious, strained sounds of hyenas. A few even cheered. The breath came fast and shallow in my throat.

  Tucker swore under his breath. “Here we go.”

  “They’re stolen uniforms,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “We’re resistance, too. We’re from Knoxville.”

  “You sure?” asked Jack. “Because I have a hunch you got friends somewhere close, watching us right now. I think you’re acting big and bad because you know they won’t let you get hurt.”

  My palms itched. A line of cold sweat dribbled between my shoulder blades. The circle had gone from bawdy to whispers in just seconds, and a crater formed around us, locking us in the center.

  They thought we were MM. They thought we were here to break into their camp. And they were willing to hurt us, just to see if any soldiers came to our rescue.

  If this many people were here, how many more were lying in wait?

  I thought of Wallace’s first rule. Play nice or we don’t play at all. These boys had dialed it up a notch. Grimly, I realized there was probably a reason for their paranoia.

  “It’s not like that,” Sean objected.

  We both watched Chase. A veil of very controlled hostility had fallen over him. His head sunk, his shoulders loosened. A slight bend in his elbows, a slight crouch. He was ready to spring, and we were cornered.

  “We don’t want trouble.” Chase’s voice was harder than I’d ever heard it.

  “Hear that? He doesn’t want trouble! I saw him almost beat a guy’s head in at the base and he doesn’t want trouble!” shouted someone from the ring.

  I flinched. I’d seen what Chase could do in a fight. What his eyes looked like when they went cold and emotionless. He couldn’t go back there.

  “Still think you’re tough?” Jack sneered at him. I wanted Jack to look my direction instead of putting this all on Chase. My nails pinched into my palms.

  “What is your problem!” I shouted at him.

  “Sean,” said Chase quietly. Sean grabbed my arm and began pulling me back, away from Chase. I tried to jerk out of his grip but he held fast.

  “No!” I struggled. “Let go!”

  “Don’t do this,” said Sean nervously. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, or Chicago.

  Toothless let the baseball bat fall to the ground, and it made a terrible clatter that echoed off the concrete pylons. He grinned again, that stupid black hole in his mouth blinking at me. He seemed excited, not petulant like Jack, but primed for a fight.

  “You first, huh?” Chase cracked his knuckles. “Thought you were scared.”

  “Me?” he said innocently. “I’m not scared. Stupid maybe, but not scared.”

  I thought this was probably a pretty accurate assessment. He laughed, and several others around him laughed, too. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they get enough fighting with the MM? They were like a pack of wild dogs.

  Sean had brought me almost all the way to the edge of the circle when a hand snaked out and pinched my side. I yelped and kicked out reactively, connecting to the shin of a gaunt-faced boy with a shaved head. This evoked a mocking roar from the closest spectators.

  Chase pointed a menacing finger his direction.

  “Touch her again and you’re next.”

  Several of them cheered. My heart, my nerves, the blood running through my veins, it all clamped down now. There was certainly going to be a fight, but there were at least thirty here to our four. I wasn’t convinced they didn’t want to kill us, which kept my fear, and its dueling resentment, alive.

  Sean’s fist was latched around my biceps. Tucker and Chase turned so that they were back to back. I hated that Chase was still in the center, while Sean was pinning me on the outside of the circle. I should have been beside him.

  There was no further warning. Two guys came immediately from the side and went for Tucker. Another came for Chase, grasping his torso like a flailing fish while Toothless took his first swing. Chase ducked at the last second, and the fist collided with the guy behind him.

  “Stop!” I screamed. But no one heard me, they were all cheering.

  Sean released me suddenly, and my whole body recoiled when I heard him cry out against a swipe to his burned back. I barreled into his attacker and we all fell to the rough ground. In the shuffle to stand, I grabbed Sean’s collar and jerked him toward where I’d last seen Chase. We had to stand together; it was the only way we’d get through this.

  The circle hadn’t closed in; Chicago had created a fluctuating barrier, shoving anyone who got too close to the edge back inside. It was like being thrown into a water bottle and shaken. I stumbled, and when I rose, someone’s hand slid across my chest. It was a guy with chin-length greasy hair and a giddy smile on his face. With blood behind my eyes, I punched him hard, right in the nose, and then gasped when the pain ricocheted up my shoulder. Something cracked. The sound stirred a sick
feeling of satisfaction in the pit of my stomach. He swore at me and immediately disappeared behind the first row.

  My eyes locked on Chase. He was pressed close to Toothless, almost like they were embracing, except that Chase was wheeling back and planting several sharp successive jabs into his side. Someone ran up behind Chase, grabbed him by the shoulders, and heaved him off: the third guard. I was relieved to see the rifle gone. I sprinted toward them, dragging Sean by the shirtsleeve, but we were intercepted. Tucker jutted in front of us and tackled Chase’s attacker. They flew across the ground, now splattered with blood.

  Sean was down again. My body reeled when I saw someone’s leg swing like a pendulum and kick him in the gut. He arched, taking the blow with full force in order to protect his back. I reached for him, but someone grabbed me from behind, his forearm slamming up against my windpipe. A burst of stars appeared in my vision, blocking Sean, blocking everything.

  I dug my nails into his skin, tucked my chin, and threw my hips back hard, just as Chase had taught me.

  The hold released, and I sputtered for breath, hitting my knees. Jack had fallen beside me, shocked that I’d been able to shake him off. As I tried to stand, I slipped and nearly toppled over the baseball bat. In a blind fury, I swooped it up and charged him.

  I lunged, a puppet to my anger, and landed on his chest, knees pinning his shoulders down. He gave me a twisted smile and bucked his hips, nearly tossing me over his head.

  Go for soft spots, Chase had said.

  I shoved the bat beneath Jack’s chin and pressed down on his throat.

  “Call them off!” I screamed.

  He gasped, but managed a small shake of his head. There was blood on his teeth.

  “Call them off!” I ordered again, pressing down harder. All that rage inside of me burned for this moment. His face seemed too familiar then. Soulless green eyes. A calculating smile. Tucker. I was hurting Tucker. My eyes stung. You killed her. How dare you.

  I blinked. Jack, not Tucker. But still the rage whipped through my veins, leaving me unable to release him. Someone had to be accountable for all these disappointments.

  “You’re no better than they are!” I shouted into Jack’s face.

  “Neither”—he breathed—“are… you.”

  Something twisted inside of me, almost as though I’d been punched, but this bite emanated from the inside, within my ribcage. The line between right and wrong had never felt so fragile, and here I was, crossing it. No, not just crossing it, but trampling it, consumed by a dark and furious thrill.

  Still pressing the bat to his throat, I reached in my pocket and removed the copper bullet. I held it right before his eyes.

  “Do you know what this is?” I said as acknowledgment registered in his eyes. “Do you know who I am?” I released the bat, disgusted with myself, but kept my eyes on Jack and didn’t move. He just kept smiling. Red on white.

  “Let me up,” he said.

  I rose fast and ready. He snatched the bullet from my hand, grabbed my arm, and led me through the wall of resistance to a woman, older than Wallace if I had to guess, wearing men’s fatigues complete with lace-up boots. She had short, spiked black hair and a sharp, jutting chin. There was a severe look in her eyes, like someone who was used to living hard.

  Jack leaned down and whispered something in her ear, his arm still clamped down on mine. He revealed the bullet, and she scanned my face. After several beats, she smiled.

  “Enough!” Her voice, low but piercing, carried over the others.

  I spun to see Chase behind me; three fighters, Toothless included, were on the ground groaning at his feet. Chase, clutching his side, turned and spat, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. The skin around his right eye was red, and his shirt was ripped, revealing most of his shoulder.

  He glanced down over my body for injuries. There was a hard glint in his eyes, but no apathy. He was still there.

  Coughing, and groaning, some extraneous cheers, but mostly silence. I surveyed the damage. Sean’s hands were on his knees, a line of blood dribbling down his chin. Tucker’s face was crimson from the exertion.

  “I said enough!” She looked to me as they silenced, and shoved me forward. “Tell us who you are. Say it loud, so everyone can hear, otherwise I let the boys pound you into the dust.”

  I glanced at Chase and Sean, then back to Tucker. What had I done?

  “My name is Ember Miller,” I said. I swallowed down the tremor that was building inside of me.

  “I can’t hear you,” she prompted. Chase tried to move beside me, but was stopped by Toothless. “Tell them why they should believe you aren’t snitches.”

  I tried to breathe, but couldn’t find enough air. They all watched me expectantly.

  I’m sorry, Chase.

  “My name is Ember Miller!” I shouted. “I’m the one they’re looking for! I’m the sniper!”

  CHAPTER

  16

  “YEAH right!” shouted someone. “I’m the sniper, too, Mags!”

  People laughed. The woman—Mags, I assumed—smirked.

  “And why should we believe you?” challenged Mags. All voices silenced when she spoke. “How do we know you’re not lying?”

  “Check the mainframe,” I said. “Pull up my photo. I’ll verify anything you want.” My body felt rigid, strung too tight. There were murmurs from the crowd.

  “Mm…” Mags gave me an evaluating look. “You do look like the picture. Not so soft though.”

  “Give her a gun.” I braced at Tucker’s voice. “See what she can do if you don’t believe her.”

  We both knew the only thing I could do with a rifle was prove myself a liar.

  “Let’s not,” muttered Jack. Mags laughed.

  “They stopped running that report,” a guy near Mags said speculatively. “They must’ve verified that that Greeneville girl was Miller.”

  “It wasn’t,” Tucker said, staring at me with the clear message not to screw this up. “I don’t know who that was. Just a code one victim. But that’s good news, isn’t it, Ember? I guess you’re off the hook.”

  The fact that he could even pretend to be indifferent made me sick.

  I was frozen, unable to jump for joy that my name was cleared because it had meant Cara’s demise. But if he was right, how was it possible? Cara and I looked similar from afar, but the MM couldn’t possibly think she was me after a good look at her poor, lifeless face.

  Still, if these people here had heard that the sniper—Ember Miller—was killed, then I had a few moments reprieve. Moments to get Rebecca. To deliver her to the safe house. If we survived the day.

  “They’re lying!” shouted someone. “They’re just trying to skip a beating!”

  “Ask him,” I said, pointing to Sean. He shot a worried glance in Chase’s direction. “He was my guard at reform school. There’s got to be some records in the mainframe that prove that.”

  My heart thundered in my chest as we waited. Waited. Mags walked a slow circle around me.

  Chicago is going to turn me in. They’re going to shoot me right here.

  But no one looked angry. It slowly occurred to me that these people weren’t mad at me at all. Like the woman in the square who’d given me the medallion, they’d been supporting me. They’d been cheering for me.

  Or rather, for who they thought I was.

  “How’d you do it?” someone called out. “How’d you get so close to all those uniforms?”

  I closed my eyes, just for a moment, and summoned Cara’s cool exterior.

  “Do I look like a threat to you?” I smiled sweetly.

  “What kind of gun? Was it an M40?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, fixing my hair. “It was a big one.”

  Someone laughed. It was contagious, and soon the others were nodding and smiling as though they’d never intended to harm us. I could hardly believe it. Was it really so easy to evade the truth? To be someone else?

  “I like it,”
said a guy wearing a cockeyed knit cap. “A patriot if you ask me.”

  The adrenaline was humming through me. I had no idea what would come next, but at least I’d stopped them from killing us.

  As the copper cartridge was passed around the whispering crowd, Chase and I locked eyes. His betrayed nothing, though I knew he feared what I had done, and what would happen when Chicago realized my lie. Would it just be a fight then? Or would Chicago skip the beating and eliminate the problem?

  “Who do you work for?” Mags asked. “Let’s just say you are the sniper. No one could have gotten half those hits without some protection.”

  I stiffened. Tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  “Everyone reports to someone,” she said, testing me.

  I closed my eyes, and tried to remember what Sean had told me at the Wayland Inn, how Marco and Polo had only added to the mystery.

  “Everyone reports to Three,” I answered, immediately regretting my words. How far did Three’s power extend? How much trouble would I stir for dropping their name?

  Before me, Mags had stopped her pace. Her brows had lifted. I prayed that she didn’t ask anything more direct.

  “Indeed,” she said. “I’ve heard rumors that something big’s about to go down. Is that why you’re here?”

  I wanted to ask what she’d heard—was Three planning some kind of revolution?—but I couldn’t break from the story now.

  “Our friend was sent to rehab,” I said. “We need to find her.”

  Everyone had gone very quiet. They were watching Mags, who wore authority just as she wore those battle-beaten boots.

  “Rehab… you mean the circus?”

  I glanced at Tucker, who appeared just as clueless as the rest of us. This was not a term soldiers used.

  “Find her and what?” Mags added. “Extract her? Waste of time.”

  A vein on Sean’s forehead bulged. “Hold on—”

  “It’s our time to waste, ma’am,” Chase interjected. He moved beside me. “But we’d waste less of it with your help.”

  I held my breath as Mags’s eyes traveled over the four of us. A frown pulled at the corners of her small mouth, but she regarded us with less suspicion now. When she spoke, her tone was flat.