Crossed (10 page)

“I’ve made a few good decisions, too, you know,” I grumble.

“I know,” he agrees easily. “And that’s the point. How will you ever know what kind of person you are if no one lets you decide?” I don’t answer, he continues, his big hands clasped in front of him, his tone as gentle as I’ve ever heard it. “And Meda, I’m the kind of person who protects children from monsters, no matter what.”

So that’s what this is about. “You would have died,” I say, but he’s right. I’d kill him if he ever did it to me.

“I’ve always known how I’m going to go,” he says and I hear a smile in his voice, though I can’t possibly fathom why. “I’m going out in a blaze of glory.”

“Or die trying,” I mutter.

“Har dee har har.” Chi attempts his first bit of sarcasm, but ruins it by actually chuckling. He’s hopeless. He tips his head to look at me. “Promise me you won’t do it again.”

“Do what again, exactly? Substitute my sound and sensible decisions for your piss-poor ones?” I’ve never been a graceful loser.

“I’ll settle for you not knocking me senseless whenever we disagree.” If it were anyone else, I’d suspect irony, but with Chi, I’m pretty sure he means it literally.

“All right, Chi. I promise.”

“Thanks.”

Chi falls silent though I know he’s not asleep. The pause is so long that when he speaks, it startles me.

“Do you . . .Do you think anyone made it?”

“No.”

Even though he knew the answer, I hear a small sound as he flinches. “Yeah,” he finally says. Then something occurs to him. “Even the Sarge? She wasn’t with the rest of us . . .”

I shake my head, then remember he can’t see me. “I felt her go.”

“Oh.” His voice is suspiciously thick.

I scramble for something comforting to say, but it’s not a skill I’ve cultivated. “She went quick,” I finally offer.

“Quick?” He sounds startled, like he doesn’t understand why that would matter. As the architect of many slow deaths, it seems obvious, but I don’t say so. Instead, I sit quietly, praying the conversation is over.

It’s not that I’m not sad that they’re dead. I am. The Sarge was the closest thing I had to an effective ally, despite our differences. The headmaster, too, was a good guy, once you saw past his deranged-biker-Santa appearance. As for the other Reavers who died today, well, you don’t spend three months fighting for your life with people and not develop some sort of relationship.

But Jo and Chi have taken up all the space my shriveled heart has to offer, and even if they hadn’t, I wouldn’t expend any of that high-dollar real estate on any more Crusaders. It’s all I can do to keep these two alive; the rest are so much cannon-fodder.

Chi’s not like me though. His heart is like The Blob, an alien amoeba that swallows everyone in its path, growing every time it consumes someone new.

“I’ve known her my whole life, you know? I saw her more than my own mom.”

That too.

“And headmaster . . .” He stops and clears his throat. “And Rex…”

“Yeah.” Silence fills the room. I wonder if I should hug him or something.

“Someone will have to tell Jane.” Chi says suddenly.

“Who?”

“The girl we rescued at Shady Glen.” I hear him shift and he sighs. “I think she likes . . .
liked
him.”

“Everyone liked him.” Even me, despite the disgust on his face the last time I saw him. I suspect by now he’s been punished enough.

“You know what I mean.” His romantic thoughts lead him somewhere else, and concern tightens his voice. “Jo will think we’re dead.”

“Nah, she has more faith in me than that.”

That wins a little laugh. “Good point.”

“And anyway, think how excited she’ll be when she finds out we’re alive.”

“Even better point.”

He doesn’t say anything else but allows our conversation end on a note of false levity. I, too, let it stay there and pretend I don’t hear him cry.

The next four days are the longest of my life. We have water, fortunately, from the creek, but it apparently comes with virulent microbes. Chi is so sick that if he weren’t superhuman, I’m pretty sure whatever bacteria he swallowed would have killed him. If I weren’t superhuman, the smell would have killed me. As it is, he spends most of his time sweating with fever, and I spend it sweating with fear. Waiting has never been something I’ve cared for; being cornered, even less.

I make treks out into the forest to check the demons” perimeter, crawling on my belly as close as I dare to the ring of demons surrounding the valley, hoping for holes in their defenses. I make it probably a quarter-way around the valley, but never find any.

On the third day it starts to rain and our snug cave turns into a sludgy pit.

Chi starts to feel better by the fourth day, but that brings its own problems.

“Meda, I’m going to need something to eat.” He says it apologetically, but even I’m hungry, and I’d just “eaten” my other meal, and hadn’t spent the last week spraying everything I’d ever eaten into the leaves. From everywhere.

If the demons have scaled back their search, I haven’t seen any evidence of it. But then, why would they? They have the manpower to waste. We’re going to have to make a move or die of starvation. Or old age. Or the toxic stench emanating from Chi’s bowels. We need a plan B.

“We need to break the line somehow,” Chi mutters to himself. “Make a gap big enough for us to slip through.”

“What we need is a distraction.” My mind races—for the thousandth time—over our limited resources. The clothes on our back, the couple of blades that stayed strapped to Chi during our flight, the noxious stink of vomit and poo clinging to my companion. Funny enough, it’s the last that sparks and idea.

My eyes meet Chi’s. “I think I know just the thing.”

I peek over the side of what remains of a centuries-old stone wall to eye our target. “There it is,” I murmur, nodding towards the large white barn. The foster is—or rather,
was
—a working farm, which means fertilizer. Explosive fertilizer. The hope is a big enough explosion, an explosion that feels like an attack, will draw the demons from the perimeter, allowing us to escape.

“When you said we were going to blow shit up, I didn’t think you meant it literally,” he says with a devilish grin. “So what now?”

“Meda make boom.”

“That’s it? That seems . . . straightforward.”

“The devil is in the details.”

His forehead wrinkles. “I don’t think that’s what that means . . .” he starts, then shrugs it away, apparently remembering that thinking is not his forté. “Better keep it simple, then. He’s the last guy we want showing up.” He looks at the valley teeming with demons and makes a face. “Though, I’m pretty sure he’s the only demon not already here.”

It’s true. The demons have turned the farmhouse into their home base for the search-and-destroy mission aimed at yours truly, and there are dozens swarming below. Hopefully it lends them a false sense of security. Given their numbers, us attacking them is probably not an option they’ve considered, or prepared for.

He peeks over the side again and his grin is replaced with the simple confusion of a dog when his master pretends to throw the ball. “But what are those demons doing over there?”

Damn, I was hoping he didn’t notice. Four or five demons stand around the door to the bomb shelter where the fosters were hiding. “Nothing.”

“No, there’s like a . . .” He grabs my arm. “Meda!”

“Shhhhhhh!” I jerk him down.

In his excitement, Chi can barely keep his tone to whisper. “They haven’t been able to get into the shelter! The kids! They’re still alive!”

“Oh, gee, exciting.” Damn. I try not to let him see my cringe as I wait for the inescapable.

“We can still rescue them!” And there it is.

“Chi, you know I’d love to, but we can’t even rescue ourselves.” I might as well try to make a lab puppy sit in a room full of bouncing tennis balls. He doesn’t even hear me.

“If our messages couldn’t get through, I bet theirs couldn’t either. Headquarters must not know they’re alive …’

“Chi!” I snap my fingers in front of his nose. Then speak extra slowly. “We can’t even save ourselves. How are we going to save a half-dozen children?”

“Because we have to,” he says simply.

I put on my best snake-oil salesman. “Chi, I think we . . . no,
they
have a better chance if we get ourselves out and let the Crusaders know that they’re still alive.” I pat him on the arm. “Then we’ll come back with an army.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a miracle the demons haven’t punched through their defenses already. They may not have that kind of time.” He looks at me seriously, all trace of bluff and bluster wiped clean. His eyes are sharp, hard. On fire. Every once in a while, it’s like a wind blows through Chi’s soul, brushing aside a curtain to reveal depths I never suspected he had. He puts a big hand on my forearm, and his voice is soft, belying the hardness in his eyes. “You know as well as I do, that our chances of getting out of here alive are slim.” His blunt acceptance of the truth hits me like a thump to the sternum. He nods down the hill. “Our deaths can be the distraction they need to escape.”

I have the weirdest sense of déjà vu. That’s exactly what I thought of Chi the first time we met—that his death would be a convenient distraction so I could escape the demons. I’m filled with a sudden foreboding, as if my previous deviousness spawned some inescapable fate.

Which is patently ridiculous. I shake off the sudden chill.

Chi’s still talking. “You can either help me rescue the kids from the demons, or you can explain to Jo how you let me do it by myself, and died. Frankly, I’d rather face the demons,” he says with a twisted smile, the curtain firmly back in place.

“Never going to happen,” I say resolutely.

His brows drop. “You can’t stop me. You promised,” he points at me.

“I meant about telling Jo. I’m obviously going to lie.”

“Meda.”

“Chi.”

He looks at me seriously, his open face full of reproach with just the tiniest pinch of pleading.

“Chi, don’t look at me like that.”

He blinks, his blue eyes suddenly enormous. “Like what?” He blinks again. “Like this, Meda?”

“I’m not falling—’

“It’s okay, Meda, I’ll just go out there all by myself . . .” Blink blink. “If I don’t make it back, say goodbye to Jo for me.” He puts his hands on the pile of rocks hiding us, making to jump over. If it were anyone else, I would call them on their bullshit. I’d let them jump, knowing they never would. The only problem with Chi is that, while he is obviously manipulating me, it’s not bullshit. He totally will. His idiocy really cannot be overstated.

He starts to jump over and I grab his arm and jerk him back. “At the very least, we need a plan.”

A giant grin splits his face.

“Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I knew you were a good person.”

“Great. They can put that on my tombstone.”

We skulk through the bushes, watching the demons, taking notes (figuratively). The farmhouse serves as the demons’ base, and most of them congregate there, coming and going in shifts, as they search for us. There are tents in the yard, to house the spillover, and still more demons sleep in the barn. The Crusaders’ bodies are piled haphazardly by the shelter, their limp limbs splayed at odd angles, blank eyes open, gore painting the remains of their clothes. The sight of them is like a physical blow to Chi, and he stumbles slightly. To me, it’s just a pile of rotting meat. It’s more devastating as a symbol of our hopeless cause than because of any deep personal connections.

I said I would spare no emotion on the Crusaders and I meant it.

I force myself to look at them, to stare down the Sarge’s dead, accusing eyes. Their ghosts have not come to haunt me, maybe because they are at peace, or, more likely, because they have no faith that a fleeing coward would avenge them and don’t do me the courtesy of asking. I remember the look on Rex’s face as I ran and I force myself to stare. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

They have no power to hurt me because they are dead and I am alive. Scoreboard bitches.

I turn deliberately away and see that Bubba, my big beautiful boy, is where I left him.

The shelter full of children is treated as an afterthought, a hobby for the demons to tend to in their free time, as their real mission all along, as we suspected, has been to capture me. The children are nothing but the bait on the hook and the demons enjoy taunting them, dragging out their fear and panic.

There’s a cluster of demons, the number of which ebbs and flows, around it all times, trying to crack the tough nut of the foster’s bomb shelter. Typically one demon hauls on the shelter doors with the tractor until the magical blue shield appears around the doors and the other demons try different spells to blast it open. The shield flickers or pales and the demons squeal with excitement, then groan when it flares back a royal blue.