Breaking Point a5-2 Page 5

  Chase was right at my side, ignoring Wallace. He didn’t need to say a word. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Tucker Morris, his one-time partner, the soldier who had killed my mother, had broken his word and turned me in. It was the only explanation. How I could have trusted him not to rat us out in the first place, even if it did mean his precious career, now seemed a mystery.

  A small sound of panic siphoned out of my airway. I blinked and saw a flash of his face—those sadistic green eyes and his perfect, golden hair. The casted arm Chase had broken and the scratches on his neck from my fingernails. I’d had the chance to kill him, to clear our names, to avenge my mother. And I hadn’t.

  Words echoed in my mind. Words like coward.

  “Don’t worry,” Billy said, trying too hard to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “No one’s going to believe a girl had anything to do with it.”

  His words were like a slap to the face, and he wilted under my heated glare. For the first time that morning I noticed Riggins, standing within the surveillance room behind Wallace. His buzzed head was tilted slightly to the side, but when our eyes met he quickly glanced away.

  “Here,” said Chase, pulling me by the elbow into the privacy of the supply room. He wanted me to sit down, but I couldn’t. I navigated through the boxes of stolen uniforms and food to pace near the window. It felt safer to be close to an exit.

  “This is crazy, right?” said Houston, following right on Chase’s heels.

  “Because you would’ve said so if you’d done those soldiers,” finished Lincoln. Billy snuck in behind him, acting as though he needed a towel.

  “I’ve been here for the last month!” I erupted. “How could I possibly—”

  “Get out,” Chase said to them.

  “What? I didn’t mean…” Lincoln shuffled.

  “Get. Out. You, too, Billy.”

  “What did I do?” Billy whined as Chase pushed him out the door.

  Alone, the room seemed too quiet. Too still. So opposite the pull within me to run, or fight, do something. Sweat dewed along my hairline. It felt like a great spotlight had been pointed in my direction; it was just a matter of time before every soldier in the city arrived.

  Chase watched me warily, like I was a water balloon filled a little too full. It was always terrifying to see my own insanity reflected back in his cautious stance.

  “What’s a code one?” My voice sounded low and unfamiliar. When he hesitated, I added, “You promised you’d tell me everything. No secrets.”

  I realized it was a double standard; I hadn’t told him everything that had happened with Tucker at the base, but I didn’t care. His secret about my mom’s murder had been far more destructive than that.

  “Code one means a lethal finding. They can fire on suspicion alone. They don’t have to question you. They don’t have to bring you back to the base for trial with the board.”

  Everything within me dropped, pressed down by a greater gravity.

  “What if they mistake someone else for me?” I whispered, horrified.

  Chase grimaced, his copper face pale. “It’s bad.”

  I felt my eyes widen. I could barely breathe. He reached out to touch me but I jerked away.

  “Wallace is right. We have to stay,” he said between his teeth.

  “We? I didn’t hear your name on that report!”

  I didn’t know why Tucker hadn’t turned him in, too, but it didn’t matter. Everything bad the MM had ever done to us was because we’d stuck together—his torturous fights during basic training, the overhaul in which they’d arrested my mother for an Article 5 violation, the escape from the base—all because we couldn’t let each other go. Now, this fact became clearer than ever. If we stayed together, we were going to get each other killed.

  I wanted him gone. At that moment I wanted him a thousand miles away from me. I wanted him at the safe house. In Tent City. In some other resistance. I couldn’t save my mother, but maybe I could still save him.

  “We have to split up,” I said.

  He scoffed. “Now that is a knee-jerk reaction.”

  “They’re looking for me. You heard the report. What?” I asked when he shook his head. “I can make it just fine on my own.”

  “You…” He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “Of course you can. I was there, at the base, remember? You saved my life.”

  “And left how many more to die?”

  It scared me how easy that decision had been. I would have let Tucker kill everyone on that base if it meant Chase would live.

  His face darkened, and his forehead scrunched. His thumb kneaded his temple. “There was nothing we could have done for them.”

  “Nothing? Just like with my mom, right? There was nothing you could have done.”

  The words lashed out of me, as if they had been tearing at my insides for weeks. He took a step back, allowing the space between us to grow thick and solid as glass.

  I swallowed an unsteady breath and tried to stand tall. “You don’t need to look out for me anymore. Things have changed. I’m not who I used to be. I don’t even remember who I used to be.”

  He winced as though I’d struck him, and when he tried to come closer I fell back one step, then another. If he touched me I’d fall apart, and now I needed to be stronger than ever.

  “Please go away,” I said. “Please,” I begged when his arms reached out to hold me. They dropped to his sides.

  Without looking back, he stalked out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.

  * * *

  I COLLAPSED on a box of uniforms. My chest grew so tight I could hardly breathe. I didn’t know where Chase had gone, but wherever he was, I could feel his hurt within me, magnified by my hatred for Tucker Morris, who had lied, just like I should have expected. Why was I surprised that he had turned me in? How could I ever expect my mother’s murderer to do anything right by me? Now I was stuck here, endangering everyone. I was the gasoline on a pile of sticks, and Tucker, he was the match. It was just a matter of when he would strike.

  “Quite a morning.”

  I jolted up again, ready to tell whoever it was to get lost until I realized it was Wallace, leaning casually against the doorjamb. The handheld radio, which never seemed to leave his grasp, swung, from his hand by the antennae like a pendulum.

  My throat was too dry to answer him.

  “You know, when you came here I had Billy look you up on the mainframe. I’m curious, do you know the list of accolades they have under your name?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Attacked a soldier during an overhaul, ran away from a rehab facility, linked to an AWOL with everything from assault with a deadly weapon to terroristic threatening. The files had you both listed as completed—dead. That’s no easy feat. The photo doesn’t do you any favors, but hey.”

  The picture had been taken at the reformatory, right after they’d taken my mother. This was not the first time it had been posted on the MM’s computer database.

  “Your escape from the base was just added recently. Combined with all the rest, it’s no wonder they think you’re the shooter.”

  I swallowed over the lump in my throat. A couple days ago I’d felt a strange kinship with Wallace, but now, I felt just as defensive as I had the first time we’d met.

  “I’m not a killer,” I said. I shouldn’t have to explain that to someone who already knew.

  “That’s not what the Bureau’s saying.”

  “The Bureau lies!” I shot back at him.

  “Ah,” he said, smiling now. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

  He turned to leave, but just before he did he stopped.

  “Ember, I didn’t need your résumé on the mainframe to tell me you belong here. I knew the second you walked in the door.”

  He left me fuming. I didn’t belong here, not now that every soldier in the region was looking for me. I didn’t belong anywhere. I was a danger to our cause, to Chase, to Sean and Billy. I was a danger
to myself. It was just a matter of time before the MM caught me.

  I spun away from the door and kicked the first thing within reach: a cardboard box. Pale blue blouses and navy pleated skirts toppled over the dirty carpet. The Sisters of Salvation uniforms Cara had brought back.

  Frustrated, I grabbed a towel and escaped to the bathroom. I washed my hair with an almost frantic need to cleanse myself. I cut it to chin length, and then dyed it black with a bottle of what looked like molasses beneath the sink. Temporary color, meant to wash out so no roots would show and draw the attention of those looking for such frivolous behavior. I knew it mattered little. They had to know my appearance was subject to change, and even with a pseudonym, my photo from the reformatory was going to make it to print. Still, I had to do something.

  I looked in the mirror at my altered reflection. At the big brown eyes that looked so much like my mother’s, and the ski-slope nose we shared. I wished now, more than ever, that I could talk to her.

  * * *

  “YOU can’t serve them first,” the man complained. He looked like every other displaced businessman pounding the streets for work: glasses askew, tie loose, collared shirt untucked. He had a canvas tote bag slung over his shoulder and was pointing to a sheet of paper while he yelled at the soup kitchen attendant.

  “See? Just look at it. That’s right, tilt your head down, that’s a good girl.”

  The woman behind the counter looked like she might cry. I was five people behind the man, but the line had spread out when he’d raised his voice, and now everyone was listening.

  I watched my mother hustle over from her volunteer position, outside the cold truck holding the perishable foods. She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “What’s the problem, sir?” I stiffened at her tone; it was generally one step before she said something snappy.

  “Oh, thank God. Someone reasonable. Look, these guys are up front getting the same rations as a family. Like they’re a family.”

  My mother’s glance flickered to the two young men to her right. One was pulling at the other’s shoulder, saying “Come on, let’s just go, okay?” The other was red in the face and shaking his head.

  “And?” Mom asked.

  The man snorted. “And clearly they’re not. Look right here. Article Two. Whole families are to be considered one man, one woman, and children. All other combinations are not to be considered under the title family,” he air-quoted, “and should receive no tax, occupation, education, or health benefits otherwise.”

  “Ah. The Moral Statutes.” She took the paper, and the man nodded righteously to those around him. I glared at his back while my mother read. “I don’t see anything about not receiving meal rations,” she said finally.

  I froze. I willed her to close her mouth. This man wasn’t a soldier, but he could easily report her if he wanted. He could jump over the table and attack her if he wanted.

  The man laughed, then realized my mother wasn’t joking. The two men in question went still. I pushed my way to the front of the line, not sure what I would do if he flipped out.

  “Clearly that’s implied,” he said.

  “Clearly not,” she answered, leaning forward over the table. “Let me tell you what is implied. Respect. And if that bothers you, I would be happy to recommend another soup kitchen which accommodates people who are obviously better than the rest of us.”

  My face flushed, some with fear, mostly with pride. It filled me up, that pride. She was so alive and powerful just then—the look on her face daring him to say another word. I felt my face, so like hers, mimic that expression. I thought of checking it in the mirror when I got home to make sure I had it right.

  The man turned, as if to stomp away, but then grimaced and returned to his place. My mother was the one to deliver his rations.

  * * *

  “MILLER, don’t be such a girl.” Sean beat his fist against the door, snapping me from my trance. “You’ll be lynched if you hog the john much longer.”

  I swallowed a deep breath, knowing I couldn’t hide forever, and pushed through. Sean’s face changed when he saw me; he blinked in surprise.

  “Who the hell are you?” he said when he recovered. “I’m looking for this brunette, sort of short and moody, disappeared in there about an hour ago.”

  I leaned past him and searched the hallway for Chase, but he wasn’t among those loitering outside Wallace’s office. My heart lurched at the thought of how we’d parted.

  “So,” Sean said carefully. “Pretty crazy, everything that’s going on.”

  “Yep.”

  “Want to talk about—”

  “Nope.”

  He hid a smirk in a well-timed cough. “Becca says if girls don’t talk about their feelings they keel over dead or something.” He waved one hand flippantly through the air, and I nearly laughed at how well my old roommate had him trained.

  “I’m not most girls.”

  “Too bad,” he said, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “I always wondered what that would look like, death by emotional overload. Sounds brutal.”

  “And messy,” I agreed, glad he was around, even if I didn’t feel like talking. I changed the subject. “Any news on your recruit?”

  He seemed equally glad for the switch. “He’s still alive apparently. I’ll bring him in tomorrow.”

  I nodded now wondering if this new recruit might have information on Tucker, or why he turned me in.

  “Billy says he thinks there’s resistance in Chicago,” he added with more enthusiasm. “He found some FBR wanted lists for the region. Most of the guys are suspected of ‘terrorist activity.’” He air-quoted the words.

  It relieved me some that there were things I had to do. We had to find Rebecca. Somehow, even with my name smeared all over the FBR report, I had to break into a town with the biggest base in the country. Which involved walking outside of this hotel, getting through the blocked highways, and not getting shot.

  No problem.

  “How do we find them?” I asked.

  He shook his head, suddenly tired again. “I’m working on that part. In the meantime, Wallace called a meeting. He’s waiting for you—Chase is already there.”

  So Sean had come to find me rather than Chase. I probably deserved that.

  Wallace’s room was only two doors down on the right. Cautiously, I followed Sean through the entry, which gave way to a low-ceilinged room that seemed a lot bigger than mine without the bed. The walls were lined with overflow contraband—weapons and damaged electronics mostly—and several mismatched chairs had been dragged in to join the moth-eaten couch. They arced around a dinged-up coffee table cluttered with batteries, half-burned candles, and ammunition. The ranks were already assembled. Houston and Lincoln were there, as were Riggins, Billy, Wallace, and half a dozen others.

  And Chase. His jaw fell slack when he registered my presence. I smoothed down my short, black bob self-consciously, and tried to stand a little straighter. When Lincoln whistled at me, Chase bit his knuckles and looked away.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Miller,” said Wallace. “If I hadn’t already assigned latrine duty to Billy for the rest of his life, the job would now be yours.”

  I chewed my cheek, but didn’t feel like apologizing. Lincoln pointed at Billy and laughed.

  “We have ourselves a unique opportunity,” Wallace started. “Ms. Miller has magically reappeared on the mainframe. Now, we can let this opportunity pass us by, or we can do something about it.”

  I had a bad feeling about that word: opportunity.

  “I want to send Ember out into the city,” Wallace said.

  CHAPTER

  4

  “WHAT?” Chase jumped from his seat, the muscles in his neck twitching. In contrast, I went absolutely still.

  “It’s not an order, it’s a recommendation,” Wallace continued calmly. “But before answering, know that this may be the biggest chance we’ve had to prove to those blue bastards that there are people brave enough
to stand against them.”

  “They’ll know who she is,” said Chase. His hands had formed into fists. “Her photo’s already being posted.”

  “Exactly,” said Wallace. “What better ID than the FBR’s own mug shot?”

  It took a moment for me to realize that the point was for me to be recognized, to show that I’d escaped, and lived, and was fighting back, unafraid. It seemed so contrary to everything Chase had taught me while on the run.

  Out of the chaos in my head, I pictured my mother, standing up to that man at the soup kitchen.

  “What would this entail?” I heard myself say.

  Chase turned to stare incredulously at me.

  A smirk lifted Wallace’s unshaven face. “Nothing unusual. Same mission I would have sent Riggins and Banks on tomorrow. We’ve got a package in Tent City that needs to be delivered to the checkpoint. No fancy speeches, no dramatic unveiling. Just let a couple of people see you.”

  “What’s the package’s name?” I asked. “It’s a person, right?”

  The room grew stiff with discomfort as eyes darted and people shifted. Putting a name on the package made him real. Made him live and breathe, and die, if we weren’t careful. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to know after all.

  Wallace hesitated, caught off guard. “She didn’t say. All we know is that the carrier needs to get her over the lines to the Red Zone ASAP.”

  There were many Red Zones declared after the War, but the Eastern Seaboard was the first and by far the largest evacuated space in the country.

  “Soldiers after her?” Riggins asked.

  “Probably,” said Wallace. “You’d know a thing or two about that, right, Miller?”

  I swallowed.

  “No,” said Chase adamantly. “There’s a code one in effect. Anyone can turn her in for a food pass. And once a soldier sees her…”

  “You never seem so worried when Wallace sends me out,” said Riggins.

  Chase ignored him.

  “There’s always a code one in effect for people like us,” said Wallace. “Besides, I’d wrap her up with everyone we can spare. Banks has to tail that recruit in the Square, so he’d be with her. Houston and Lincoln can go, too. Riggins will follow.”