inDIVISIBLE (15 page)

My back stiffened. My legs tensed and before I’d even made a conscious decision, I bolted across the road, sprinting toward th
e tree line where the man had left Cray.

T muttered something that sounded like a curse before he sprinted after me, catching me as I entered the shade. He caught me in an embrace, tight against his chest but I recoiled, my stomach he
aving and my head thundering. “We have to help him, T.”

T stroked my hair but I
wouldn’t be pacified. I had to see Cray. I had to be sure before I left him suffering in those woods. “It’s too late,” T said. “It’s too late.”

“But we can’t leave him. How can we just leave him there without even checking
on him?”

T pulled me back into his arms and held me tight against his chest until some of the shaking subsided. “Checking on him will just give you another image to dream about. You’ve already seen enough.”

“But he’s in there. I saw them … I saw it all …”

He placed his hand on either side of my face, fingers twined through my hair and he raised my face so he knew I listened. “He’s dead, Brynn. You cannot bring him back, but you can avenge his death. You can make his life count.”

His fingertip brushed my lips, and I shuddered, my voice lowered when I spoke again. “Why would they kill Cray?”

He looked at the building
, and I knew that if we wanted an answer, we had to go inside.

CHAPTER 18

It smelled like mildew and stale urine inside the building. I assumed from the officer who’d camped out waiting for Cray. I kicked a rusted can across the floor, but only earned the sign for silence from T and a sympathetic glance. 

My stom
ach churned as I imagined him lying in the woods with half of his head missing, and I wanted nothing more than to do the same to the officer.
He’d treated Cray like a rodent
. It hurt to relive it, to see him dragged with no regard to the way his body flopped and bumped along the ground. At least he hadn’t felt those final moments …

I poised to kick another can but restrained myself, this time earning a strained smile from the only friend I had left in this world.
I sucked in a deep breath of the rancid air and focused on the room. The filth on the windows kept most of the light outside, but allowed enough in to see the shapes of the old farm equipment I recognized from my history lessons. In the center of the room, we found a square hole, a ladder descending several feet to a dirt floor below. The cover for the hole lay beside it, possibly the source of the clatter we’d heard before Cray lay dying on the ground outside. Whatever he was killed for lay in the darkness beyond.

T fumbled in his backpack long enough to produce a small solar flashlight. After being in his backpack for days, however, the flashlight only glowed dimly, even in the darkness of the hole.
He crept down first, the ladder groaning, and I worried at the sound, walking to the entrance and back repeatedly to make sure nobody waited outside. When he’d scanned the underground space he motioned me down, and I huddled in beside him.

Dozens of boxes bowed the wooden shelves, row upon row that covered an entire wall. “What do you think’s in them?” I asked T.

He pulled a box free and opened the top but his light wouldn’t illuminate the contents. He lugged it up the ladder and I scurried after him, checking our exit before I joined him where he rocked back on his heels and said, “Holy—”

Dust billowed
, and I sneezed—twice. T grew still and waited, listening to any indicator we’d been heard. Then he reached down and pulled out one of the knives. As long as my forearm, the serrations on the back of the blade made it look cruel while the groove on each side proved it had been made to kill. Each was cradled in a black pouch, secured with straps. But there were more, other weapons lined the bottom of the box and leather gloves had been thrown on top. We didn’t have time to dig through it all, so T placed one knife in his pocket and we scrambled down the ladder to bring up all the boxes and scavenge through them to find anything we could use.

The second box contained bandages, medical scissors and splints. I dug anxiously but found no medication.

Other boxes contained meager clothing and dried foods. We scattered enough supplies across the floor to provide for several families during a long, remote hike—the staging grounds for the men joining the revolt.

“I think we know why they killed Cray,” I whispered.

T grabbed one of the heavy backpacks and filled it full of foods, water and a change of clothing. He pushed it aside and filled another with medical supplies, a couple of knives and whatever food he could fit on top. I hefted mine and hoped the weight wouldn’t slow me down.

As I stood, I noticed one last box
, and I threw it open to find a few medicines. I bypassed the penicillin and grabbed a bottle of antibiotics I recognized from having taken them for an infection the year before. I wouldn’t chance any medicines that could start another allergic reaction. I showed it to T, and he tossed it in his pack, zipping the top just as tires crunched outside.

T stood, crouched over the box and grabbed one last item as I pressed myself to the wall, voices picking up when the vehicle silenced.

T crept to the four foot tall opening and peered out, holding up two fingers.
Great. Two men.
He held up two fingers again and made a gun out of his hand.
And two guns.
My heart pounded, trying to escape, trying to convince my legs to go with it but I pushed myself into the wall, forcing myself to stay and be smart about our escape.

Footsteps crunched r
hythmically and T pointed to a rusted tractor on the opposite side of the room. I crept toward it, placing each step carefully on the wooden floor, remembering the creaks we’d made on the way in and hoping I could avoid them now. Even if I avoided them, I wondered about my heartbeat. It would give us away for sure. I took a deep breath and concentrated on slowing the harsh pounding but it didn’t slow, didn’t mute.  T watched me, his body never moving except to check our escape every third step.

Wasn’t he coming with me?
They’d see him when they ducked inside. They’d kill him like Cray.

“Jones said he dragged the body into the woods,” one said.

“Good. Animals can take care of the evidence for us.”

I stopped just shy of the tractor. T motioned for me to go and hide.

“Won’t take them long. I hear the cougar population is growing around here again.”

“About time,” the first responded.

I saw their feet now in the yellow square of sunlight, blocking our escape. Both wore black boots, their green pants tucked inside.
One dropped a cigarette and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot.

The other ducked to enter.

T backed away, into a shadowed corner and crouched while the men sauntered to the boxes we’d left scattered across the floor. “Jones was right about someone snooping around in here.”

One man kicked at a box while another descended into the cellar.
“Looks like they’re set up for war.”

“That’s what’s in the boxes?” I heard, unable to see what happened now that I’d eased closer to the front of the tractor, where I could peer around and see T. “We’ve been guarding this area for months and I never thought to look inside. I think I’ll take one of those knives with me. We’ll just leave it off the inventory.”

The other man laughed. “Leave off two, would you?”

Feet shuffled and boxes slid. The creaking of the ladder followed
, and I peaked around at T. He made a tiny motion to stay still and I froze. It didn’t take long, however, for my thighs to cramp, and I stepped forward to release the cramp when the board squeaked.

T’s eyes widened. I caught my breath.

Sounds of movement ceased.

More boards creaked as they started my direction and I crouched, prepared to run.

T didn’t move, his body nearly concealed in the shadows.
I wanted to tell him to hide better, that they’d see him now that they weren’t focused on the boxes but he didn’t even flinch, and I knew they must be focused on the tractor.

What now?
I wanted to know.
Run or cower?
My head wanted to cower but my legs insisted on running. When T gave me the motion, I let my legs take over and shut down my brain. My legs knew what to do and they wouldn’t quit until they succeeded or I was dead.

I shot throu
gh the opening at the same time as the yelling started, two shots ripping through tin as T sprinted out the hole behind me. He grabbed my hand and tugged me beside him, and I stretched my legs, knowing I could never run as fast as T but also knowing I had to try. I stretched my legs out, knowing T could easily leave me—easily make it to safety before me but he stayed just close enough to drag me beside him, to force my legs to move at speeds I didn’t know they were capable of. I held his hand in mine like a lifeline, knowing that if I left him I’d be dead.

A bullet bit the ground at my right and I squealed even as I dodged left. T pulled me up, pushed me ahead of him as another bullet tore bark from a tree just ahead
of us.

The shadows of the trees mocked me just out of reach but I pushed to meet them—to become lost in them.
I burst through the leaves of the first tree as bark shattered to my right, spraying my face like a dozen stinging bees. I ducked beneath a heavy branch and jumped over a thorny bush, recognizing a hand lying lifeless beside it. I slowed, my breathing becoming labored, nearly panting. I hadn’t expected to find Cray in our escape. T grabbed my hand and yanked me beside him as another shot fired, more bark scattering. I allowed him to drag me again as I struggled to take long enough strides over the rocks, around fallen logs.

More shots rang out but I no longer noticed their marks. I simply ran, my heart pounding in my throat as my ears rang
—my knees threatening to buckle.
I haven’t done anything wrong
! I wanted to shout.
And neither had my father
.

T
grabbed my pack and took it from my back, throwing it over one shoulder. Relieved of the burden, my feet lifted higher, avoiding the tangled limbs. I sighed with relief, let go of his hand and fell into step immediately behind him, allowing him to break the trail for both of us.

Deep into the woods, we
slowed to a walk, carefully placing our feet on rocks, solid tree trunks or barren earth. We couldn’t afford the smallest sound, the slightest alert that we’d be overheard. I wasn’t as good at is as T, but I tried to mimic each move to keep our location secret, preserving our lives.

Still we heard them, their deep voices a grumble in the distance
, and we kept our pace hurried, pushing deeper into the woods, higher into the mountains where the air thinned and the slope turned to shale.

We climb
ed until our calves burned and our lungs ached, until the shale became too unstable. Shale and slick rock dominated the hillside now, pine trees pushing through the patches of crackled rock. T stopped, crouched and looked around for what must have been the fifth time. Standing, he clutched my hand and led me forward again, this time down the hillside to the cover of thicker pines and oak brush. The ground pitched away, and I knew that tripping over one small rock would alert the officers, no matter how far from us they searched. I picked my feet carefully up and over the ground, placed them even more so, searching for solid ground so I wouldn’t leave prints or dislodge anything that could cause an entire rockslide. Thirty feet across, T stopped. Three small pine trees blocked the pathway, nearly growing into a rock wall rising beside us. He moved the branches and paused before turning back around and searching the rock wall where the limbs bent away, growing in tandem with the stone. His lips curled and he motioned me forward where he held the limbs aside and coaxed me into a narrow cave. Cool and dim, the ceiling stood only a few feet tall so we both had to stretch out on our stomachs to avoid scraping the arch above. We pulled our packs in with us, arms draped over them—our only chance at survival.

We listened but heard nothing. No footsteps. No talking.
No twigs breaking.

“Cray
knew about the revolt,” I whispered.

T nodded but didn’t speak. He lay near the entrance to the cave, watching
through thick branches for any movement on the hillside. The trees limited his view but they would also limit anyone trying to find us.

“
How do you think he knew?” I asked.

T shrugged but
crept back into the cave, careful to keep the silence. “Most of those supplies came from the Alliance building where your father worked,” he whispered, “where his father also worked. He must have told Cray, maybe he had Cray help him transport the stuff—maybe Cray followed his father. I don’t know, but why else would he have a jammer, unless he was already informed and helping somehow?”