The Defectors (Defectors Trilogy) (31 page)

Mariah sneered, and any semblance of beauty vanished. She wore a vicious expression, but there was something else. She looked almost sick, and her catlike eyes were bloodshot. “They’re being held for questioning.”

“Let them go,” said Amory. “We pose no threat to your mission, I can assure you. All we want is safe passage out of the city. We hate the PMC just as much as all of you.”

“Is that right?” A look of triumph flashed across Mariah’s face. She stepped toward Amory, bringing her face close to his. “And what about your father, Amory Elwood? What would he think of all of this?”

Amory’s face darkened. I no longer saw fear there — only a deep loathing and something else that took me aback. He looked dangerous.

Greyson turned to me, rage in his eyes as her words sunk in.

“What’s that?” Mariah teased. “You mean you
haven’t
told your good friends about your daddy’s line of work?”
 

I ached to slap that conniving grin off her horrible face.

“Elwood? Amory Elwood!” Greyson stepped away from us, looking accusingly at me. “How could you not tell me who he was?”

I shook my head in confusion. “I didn’t . . .” I turned away from Greyson to Amory. “What is she talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Haven.” Greyson looked away in disgust. “Lying only makes it worse.”

Amory took a breath before addressing my question, trying to contain his rage. “My father is Captain Wesley Elwood. He’s PMC.”

“He’s not
just
PMC,” snapped Greyson. “He’s their chief enforcer.”

A wave of dread washed over me and I closed my eyes. We were done for.
 

In my heart, it didn’t matter who Amory’s father was or who Amory might have been before I met him, but I knew we would never be allowed to walk out of there alive now that the truth was out. Even worse, Greyson thought I’d known all along. He would never trust me now.

I turned to face him, imploring him to look into my eyes after all the years we’d known each other and believe me.
 

“Greyson, I didn’t know. I swear.” I turned to the rebels. “It doesn’t matter who his father is. Amory isn’t a PMC sympathizer.”

“How would you know?” Mariah asked in a sniveling, mock-sympathetic voice. “You only just met him a few weeks ago.”

“Because I know him.”

Despite our situation, I felt Amory stand a little taller at my words.

“Well, I don’t,” said Greyson, so quietly and angrily I knew it was directed at me.

Mariah sneered at the rebel men surrounding us.
What was wrong with her?

“Take them to the back and kill them,” she said. “But make the girl watch.”

The men moved in, closing ranks around us, and something clicked into place in my mind.

“She’s infected!” I yelled.

Now it was so clear. That was the reason Mariah looked so bad — why she had turned to look so sickly in the short time I had met her. She was recently infected, but the virus was apparent in her eyes to anyone who had seen a very early stage carrier before.

Mariah’s bloodshot yellow eyes snapped on to mine, and I felt her white-hot fury burn through me.

The rebels standing near her whipped their heads around and took an automatic step back.

“She’s crazy,” Mariah said, trying to manage a cold laugh. “Why would we believe anything you say?”

But the man with the sideburns had grabbed her arm and was shining a flashlight into her eyes.

“She’s lying,” she choked. “It’s clearly a desperate attempt to save herself and her friends.”

The man peered into her bloodshot eyes for a moment. Then he relaxed his grip and looked grimly at the rebel with the dreadlocks. “Take her outside,” he said. “We can’t risk keeping her here.”

“No!” Mariah screamed. “You can’t do this to me!”
 

Suddenly, I felt sorry for her — sorry I’d said anything. It didn’t matter that Mariah had threatened Logan, outed Amory, and tried to get us killed. It was still wrong.

A slight disturbance rippled through the crowd. Some people grumbled, and I saw one man elbowing his way to the front as though he might try to stop them, but most stood by watching in silence.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Stop! It’s not my fault! I don’t know how it happened!” She was crying now, which shocked me.
 

Mariah, tough, ruthless, and mean, was crying.

The rebels had her by the arms and were dragging her up the stairs. She was only wearing black cargo pants and a thin black tank top, but they were throwing her outside in the snow to freeze to death or be killed by the PMC. She posed a danger to the cause, and they were cutting her loose.

What had I done?

The next thing I knew, another man with copper skin and lots of piercings had me by the arm and was dragging me through the room. At first I thought he was bringing me into the crowd, but his hard grip told me I was not out of trouble. The man yanked me forward as easily as if I were a child. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another four rebels grab Amory and Greyson and haul them roughly through the crowd.

“What are you doing?” I cried.
 

“You know our location. We can’t let you just walk out of here,” the man said. “But it’s better than the alternative. We give suspects due process of the law, which is more than you’ll get from the PMC.”

Except for the officers you killed earlier today,
I thought.

As we passed through, most of the rebels regarded Greyson and me with moderate interest at best, suspicion at worst. Amory was different. The rebels scowled and crowded his captors. One man with a long ponytail spit at his feet. That seemed to rouse a few others, who jostled in to taunt him from close range. A boot jutted out from the crowd, kicking Amory in the side.

“No!” I cried, desperate to get away, but it was no use. The man who held me was too strong, and my mind was too scrambled to remember any of my combat training from the farm.

Every few steps, I twisted my head around to make sure Amory and his guards were still behind me. I was worried if I let him out of my sight, they would let the crowd of angry rebels have him. After several paces like this, my guard took to half dragging, half carrying me through the crowd.

An enormous blond man with bulging biceps pushed his way through a swinging door to what appeared to have been a kitchen. It was dark and musty, but there was still a grill line and some old, crumbling cabinets. My feet actually left the ground for an instant as the man holding my arms pulled me to a locked door — some kind of back room — and fumbled with a ring of keys at his belt. Rough hands unclipped my holster and took my backpack and gun.

I heard a commotion behind me, but he pulled open the door and thrust me inside before I got a good look. One of the other rebels yelled something I couldn’t make out, and Greyson was tossed inside after me, careening into my shoulder and nearly knocking me off my feet.
 

There was the sound of a brief scuffle, and Amory yelled my name. I pushed Greyson aside and scrambled to the door.

The blond man had his back to the door, watching Amory struggle against his two captors. I’d never seen him fight so vehemently. He was kicking and flinging his elbows out to knock his captors upside the face. Even though the men were much larger than Amory, the two of them were struggling just to keep a grip on him.

“Let me go! Haven!”

“Stop!” I screamed, the sound of my name wrenching my heart. I made a break for it, trying to skirt around the blond man blocking my escape, but I wasn’t quick enough. In a flash, the man jerked his elbow around so it connected with my jaw.

Pain shot up my chin and down my jugular, but I jutted out my elbows and kept pushing to reach Amory. My struggle ended so quickly it was pathetic. The blond man grabbed me by the throat and pushed — hard.
 

My eyes clouded with tears of pain, my lungs seized, and he shoved me back through the door. It slammed shut with a sharp breeze, and I watched through a tiny slit in the door as they dragged Amory through the kitchen.
 

I was choking. The man had hurt my windpipe, but I didn’t care. I was too worried about Amory. Why hadn’t they put him in there with us?
 

The sounds of the struggle didn’t last long. To my immense relief, I heard another door slam, followed by a metallic banging — as if Amory was pounding on a door not too far away. At least they weren’t killing him yet.

I turned to face Greyson, who was staring intently into the darkness. Two figures were huddled together on the floor. I squinted, trying to discern a face with the faint light filtering in through the door, and my heart sank.

Huddled in one corner of the closet were Max and Logan. Max was sporting an impressive black eye and had his arms wrapped protectively around her. My disappointment upon seeing them as prisoners was quickly overpowered by the rush of relief I felt to see them alive.
 

“Oh, thank god,” I breathed, crossing the small space in two strides and collapsing on top of them. Even through the darkness, I could see the whiteness of Logan’s teeth forming a reluctant smile.

“Haven, what the hell?” grunted Max, clearly happy to see me. “It’s been too long.”

“This is Greyson,” I said, searching through the darkness for an indication of his mood. I knew he still blamed me for getting us captured. “Greyson, these are my friends, Max and Logan.”

“Not another one of the PMC’s kids I hope?”
 

Logan’s smile faltered.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you guys either? Well, that’s great.”

I shot him an irritated look. “Amory is the son of a PMC captain,” I explained.

Max shifted uncomfortably.

“You knew?” I asked.
 

What was I thinking? Of course Max knew. He and Amory grew up together.

“Amory’s family always took care of me,” he said. “Ever since we were kids. I moved around a lot when I was little.” He shook his head. “Some of my foster parents weren’t great, but Amory’s mom always made me dinner . . . let me crash at their place. His dad wasn’t a nice guy. I knew he was pretty mean to Amory . . . hit him a lot. But once Amory’s mom left, he went kind of crazy.”

My heart wrenched. Amory’s mom had left him, and Max didn’t really have a family to call his own. Suddenly the years I had with my parents seemed like such a blessing, even if they were cut short.

“One day, Amory calls and tells me he’s back home from school. He sounded really weird, so I came over. When I got there, he was bleeding all over the kitchen. He’s got his med kit out, a scalpel in his hand like he tried to off himself. He’d cut out his own CID.
 

“This was just after the mandatory ID bill passed, so I didn’t have one yet. But being the captain’s son, Amory was one of the first to get his. His dad would track him twenty-four hours a day. I think it drove him crazy.”

Now I was watching Logan, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet for Max’s story. She met my gaze and then looked down at her hands.

“You knew, too?” I asked. I felt a twinge of hurt that Amory would entrust Logan with the secrets of his past but not me.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet — barely more than a hoarse whisper.
 

“I suspected. He looked a lot like the son of the captain I trained under in basic, but different somehow. That kid was a golden boy, and Amory’s . . . you know . . . dark.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Max.

Logan’s eyes were filled with tears. She looked imploringly at Max with the same expression I’d seen on Amory’s face when I learned the truth about his past.
 

“I trained with the PMC before I came to the farm. I did it to earn money for my family, but I left. I couldn’t —” She broke off. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I
never
put anyone at the farm in any danger. I swear. I was permanently deactivated.”

Max was shaking his head slightly, trying to process the fact that his favorite person in the world was one of them. Then his expression cleared. He looked at Logan with such tenderness that I felt as though I was intruding on a very intimate moment.
 

“That doesn’t change anything.”

She looked devastated. “It changes
everything
. I don’t want you to look at me like . . . like I’m one of them.”

“You’re not one of them. I know you. There’s no one like you.”

It was the same answer I’d given the rebels for why I trusted Amory, even if I hadn’t said it as well. But I realized I didn’t really know him the way Max knew Logan.

Logan managed a watery smile, and I sank down against the door. I gave them a few more seconds to revel in each other before asking the question that I’d been dreading since seeing the two of them in the room.

“What happened to Roman?”

Logan and Max exchanged a look.
 

“He’s gone,” said Logan.
 

I looked from one to the other. “Gone? Gone where?”
 

Logan’s voice was hoarse when she spoke next, as though her vocal chords were reluctant to relay the information. “Gone to join the PMC.”

Her words hit me like a freezing cold shower. “Why?”

“We left the base together, like you said.” Her words were pouring out quickly now. “Before we got to the bridge, all the sirens started going off. We didn’t know what was happening, only that there were PMC officers everywhere. So we holed up in this little abandoned café, hoping it would die down.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “That’s when Saint Drogo’s was bombed.”

“He was furious,” Max broke in. “You know how much he hates carriers. He thought it was despicable, setting them loose in the city like that. Said he couldn’t be involved with people who would free those monsters.”

“So he just turned himself in?”

“Joined up. They have an amnesty policy for illegals in times of national crisis.”

“Do you think he’ll turn Ida in?”
 

Max deflated. “I don’t know.”