Breaking Point (7 page)

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.”

As if leaving the Wayland Inn wasn’t dangerous enough, Riggins, the one person I was sure hated me, would be assigned to keep me safe. Great.

“I don’t do Tent City,” said Sean. He was watching me warily through the corner of his eye.

“And I don’t wash windows,” said Wallace. “Tomorrow you will.”

Chase leaned toward Wallace, but spoke loudly enough that we could all hear.

“Don’t do this.”

Wallace scraped a hand over his scruffy jaw. “You’d rather hide your whole life? Waste away here?”

“Isn’t that what
you’re
doing?” Chase countered. “Why don’t you ever leave, Wallace? Is your life so much more valuable than hers?”

An electric silence filled the room. My cheeks burned, as though Chase’s outburst had been my own. No one challenged Wallace like that, even if the point he made was true.

“That’s bordering on insubordination,” said Riggins.

“You’re damn right it is.” Wallace stepped up to Chase, shorter, narrower, but unafraid. “Someone’s got to stay behind, Jennings. That’s the way this works. You think you’re man enough for the job, by all means, sit back here and wait. See how easy it is.”

“I’m in.” I didn’t realize I’d said it until Sean whipped his head toward me.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked under his breath. “A new haircut doesn’t make you bulletproof, Ember.”

“When do we leave?” I was beginning to tremble in anticipation. I wanted to go as soon as possible so I couldn’t change my mind. Riggins clapped, looking genuinely impressed. Chase’s gaze was boring a hole through me, but I couldn’t look in his direction.

Wallace’s thin lips stretched into a smile. “When curfew lifts.”

“Sounds like fun,” said a female voice from the doorway. “Where do I sign up?”

I spun toward the sound.
Cara
.

She looked only slightly worse for wear—her clothes were marked with dirt like the others’ had been, and her hair was stiff from dried sweat. Though she barely acknowledged me, I was relieved to know she was alive.

“What happened?” Lincoln launched himself across the room and lifted her into an embrace. She laughed and patted his back.

“Just laid low for a while,” she said. “I lost you two, and then the sniper hit the draft setup, so I locked down and waited it out.”

“Clever girl,” said Wallace. Discussion of tomorrow’s mission was over for now. Before I left the room I looked once more at Chase, now staring out the window alone. I thought he’d try to stop me; I
wanted
him to try to stop me. But he didn’t.

It probably wouldn’t have changed my decision anyway.

*   *   *

“EMBER?
Ember!”

I raced toward my mother’s voice, near the front of the house. I’d followed the two soldiers to her bedroom, where they had opened her dresser drawers and were rifling through her clothes.

“Mom!” We collided; my arms locked around her waist, and I buried my tears in her blouse. She shifted me to the side as the soldiers came into view.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“Routine inspection, ma’am,” said the first soldier. His navy uniform still had the press lines across the shoulders, like he’d just pulled it out of a package.

“How dare you come into my house when my daughter is home alone!”

He passed a nervous look to his partner, who stepped forward. There was something familiar about him, something I couldn’t place. “According to the Reformation Act we don’t need your permission, ma’am. Besides, if you need child care, the Church of America provides services, free of cost.”

I detached from her side, arms bolting down. I was eleven, I didn’t need a babysitter.

My mother’s face was positively livid. “Don’t tell me how to raise—”

“Now,” continued the soldier. “Is there someone I can talk to? Your husband, maybe? When will he be home?”

I’d never seen her speechless before. The soldiers looked at each other, and the first made a note on the clipboard he was carrying.

“Very well,” said the familiar one. “You’re out of compliance with the Moral Statutes on seventeen counts today. Since it’s the first time we’re just going to issue a warning, but next time, it’ll be a citation for each one. Do you understand what that means?”

I kept staring at him. His features were too sharp, his hair too golden. His eyes were emerald, and hypnotizing, like a snake’s.

“What’s he talking about?” I asked. But I remembered the assembly we’d had last week at school, when a soldier, older than these two, had come to talk to us about the Federal Bureau of Reformation and the Moral Statutes. “New Rules,” he’d called them. “For a better tomorrow.”

I’d told my mother about the new rules, and she’d laughed. That bitter laugh, like when she’d lost her job. Like all of this was some kind of sick joke, one that would never actually be real. I knew right then that I’d have to pay more attention to them, for both of us.

“Of course, we could always make a deal,” said the soldier with the green eyes. He leaned forward and reached for my face, thumb trailing gently down my damp cheek. My gaze lowered to his gold name badge, where
MORRIS
was typed out in perfect black letters.

I know you
. I should have been afraid, but I was so mesmerized by his touch that I didn’t feel his fingers slip around my throat until it was too late.

*   *   *

I WOKE
like a shot, gasping and writhing, ripped from the nightmare by a hand closing around my ankle, evoking another wave of panic. The thin, shredded blanket tightened around my waist. I scrambled back until my head cracked against the wall and I blinked back stars.

“Ember.”
The familiarity of Chase’s voice tempted me to lower my guard. “Easy. It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

A dream? I couldn’t trust it. I could still feel that oppressing weight, pinning me in place. I could feel the voice within me, drawing my tongue against my teeth to scream.

It was the last sound I’d heard before Tucker Morris’s fingers tightened around my throat.

I was sitting on the upper corner of the bed, knees locked into my chest. Without the candlelight I could only see a slight differentiation of shadows from where Chase sat on the opposite edge of the mattress.

He flipped on the flashlight, laying it at my feet like a peace offering. In its glow I could see the room clearly. The lumpy, bare mattress and the old chair where he slept. Our shoes and backpack ready by the door. The crumbling drywall wearing away to reveal the wooden bones of my sanctuary.