The Defectors (Defectors Trilogy) (36 page)

The rebels danced close behind the carriers, guns poised to shoot but still much closer than they should have been. Then it dawned on me: the rebels were using the carriers as living shields. The PMC was much more terrified of the carriers, and it took a deluge of bullets in a single one before he would groan his dying breath and sink to his knees in defeat. The officers were wasting ammunition.

“Despicable,” Logan muttered. “Isn’t this against their mighty principles?”

“They didn’t free the carriers because it was the right thing to do,” said Amory. “It was just a distraction.”

Greyson looked too shocked to defend the rebels. “How are we going to get to the bridge?”
 

“There’s no way out but through,” said Max, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw.

Logan reached down and threaded her fingers with his. Amory met my gaze and nodded. We were ready.

Skirting up the side of the highway, we stayed as far away from the flying grenades and bullets as possible. For a moment, it looked as though the rebels were advancing. The PMC officers who remained after the previous day’s riots weren’t the most highly trained or the strongest combatants; they were scared and inexperienced.

The carriers were low in numbers as well, but a handful seemed to be all the rebels needed to push the PMC back toward the bridge.

We were approaching the flagging officers when I heard it: the rumble of PMC vehicles. I saw the flash of fear in the rebels’ eyes just before the caravan of PMC reinforcements plowed across the bridge.
 

The ground shook, and a moment later, the first two tanks rumbled into view across the bridge. Then another. The rebels scattered like rats, and the PMC opened fire. They tore into the city with a new wave of evil and determination. They looked darker, more menacing than the others. They were the enforcers.

Men and women screamed, and I watched them fall one by one like dominos as they turned to run back toward the safety of the buildings. Carriers fell, too, but the officers weren’t aiming for them. It was as if the carriers weren’t worth their bullets. A tank barreled right over one, and I heard the crack of his bones.

I lost count of the tanks as they emerged from the bridge, pouring into the city like foul water. Watching from the shadow of the overpass two hundred yards away, we saw the officers rolling out street by street, systematically slaughtering the rebels. They weren’t rounding them up, and they weren’t fighting. They were killing them without question, without arrest, without pause.
 

I stood frozen with fear. We were dressed like rebels, and Amory couldn’t run. They would shoot us down like birds flying scared from a covey.

I looked from Amory to Greyson to Logan, and then I looked around again, convinced I had miscounted. I whirled around to find Max, but he was gone.

There, in the darkness, running back across the highway and skirting around the fray was a dark figure.

“No!” I choked.
 

The others realized what he was doing the second it left my lips.
 

A look of horror struck Logan’s face. She shook her head helplessly and opened her mouth to scream, but no words came out.
 

We watched as he dashed across the road, so hidden by the shadows that he would be impossible to see if you weren’t looking for him. After a moment, we lost sight of his shaggy head, but I could see the faint gray tinge of morning on the horizon. He wouldn’t be invisible for long.

Moments passed, but the PMC still guarded the entrance to the bridge. Some had gone after the few dozen rebels who managed to flee the barrage of gunshots, but the officers were convinced they had won. One tank broke off from the line and came toward us. My heart sank. They were patrolling the area for surviving rebels.

Amory pulled me deeper into the shadow of the overpass, but that extra layer of protection would give us only seconds.
 

Then I saw him. In the orange glow of fluorescent light, I watched Max scale the opposite side of the bridge. He reached a ledge on the concrete overhang and pulled himself into a standing position. I could see his face clearly now, and it was set in a look of determination. There was no fear there — only resolve.
 

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a grenade. I didn’t know where he had gotten it, but it didn’t matter.
 

One shot. That was all he had. Max pulled out the pin, took aim, and threw it like a baseball at the tank rolling toward us. I covered my eyes and turned away. It exploded, close enough that I could feel the surge of heat from the blast. Everything was shaking, and I was sure the concrete hanging above our heads would collapse. My ears rang.
 

Through the haze of smoke, I saw the other officers turn in his direction. Their attention was diverted. Max raised his rifle and shot once, twice, three times . . .

One chance.

“Now!” I breathed.
 

Amory, Greyson, and Logan understood. We took off toward the bridge, Greyson and Logan at a sprint and me pulling Amory along at a brisk jog. He moved more quickly than before, as though he had removed himself from the pain and was running on sheer force of will.
 

It all happened so slowly. I wanted to cry out — to scream — but there was nothing to be done.
 

I looked up at Max, and I saw his body quiver as the officers released a hailstorm of bullets into his chest. He froze for a moment. I saw a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

As his body lurched to fall back, it was as if he was saluting us. His smile had just begun to fade as he plummeted to the ground.

Something inside me detached and was yanked out like a plug from a socket, throwing everything into total darkness. I couldn’t feel my legs pounding the pavement or my arm supporting Amory. I couldn’t feel the cold wind sting my face or the gentle coolness of snow that was starting to fall.
 

The PMC officers didn’t notice us slip behind their ranks. As we reached the bridge, the back of my neck pricked for any sound that indicated the officers saw us running, but they were still shell-shocked from the blast. Some of them had probably fanned out to finish securing the area.

I heard a sob that sounded like the wail of a dying animal and saw Logan’s shoulders cave. She was running and crying, pumping her arms so forcefully I thought she might dislocate a shoulder. Her golden head was bent, chin tucked into her chest.

Glancing at Amory, I couldn’t quite read his expression. His jaw was set, his mouth a straight line of stone. Not even his eyes betrayed emotion. For a second, I was grateful that the pain from his injuries made it difficult to focus completely on Max.

Amory paused for a moment to gather his strength. His knuckles were white as he gripped the guardrail. The bridge stretched before us — still nearly half a mile of complete exposure and nowhere to run but forward. We were moving too slowly. If even one officer turned around . . .

A shout rang out. Turning my head, I could see one of the tanks barreling toward us.

“Run!” Amory yelled.
 

Logan and Greyson took off at a sprint, but I still had my arm under Amory’s shoulder, and he wasn’t moving.

I looked up at him in confusion. “Come on,” I pleaded, but we both knew it was too late. The officers were bearing down upon us. We had no time.

Amory’s eyes softened as he looked at me, and I saw all the pain etched in the line of his brow and those intense gray eyes. He was conflicted.
 

A warning bell sounded somewhere in the recesses of my brain unrelated to the officers closing in on us. I cursed Max’s heroism; now Amory was considering some mighty sacrifice. He wanted me to turn and run, leaving him as bait.

I opened my mouth to argue, but before Amory’s plan had a chance to fully materialize in my brain, I felt him wind an arm around my waist and hoist me up off my feet, cradling me against his chest. He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, limping over to the guardrail.
 

I felt the ghost of his warm lips at my temple, and before I could yell or struggle, he tossed me over the side of the bridge.

My stomach left me as I plummeted through the air. I couldn’t hear anything except the rushing of the wind in my ears, and for a moment, I was weightless.

That was before the pain.
 

The smack of water as my body slapped the surface hit my limbs and chest so forcibly it knocked the wind out of me.
 

At first, the water sent a wave of warmth through my skin. This time of year, the water was warmer than the air. Then came a biting chill so penetrating I couldn’t move as it ripped the heat from my body.

Water rushed in my nose and I kicked my legs, fighting to return to the surface. For a moment, I panicked. I didn’t know if I was swimming in the right direction. The water was so dark.
 

The sting of the cold air on my cheek told me I broke the surface, and I coughed and hacked to clear my lungs. My eyes were blurry with water, and goose bumps erupted all over my flesh. A few yards away, I heard two more splashes.

Amory.
I looked up, kicking furiously to stay above the surface, but the bridge was too high for me to see anything. There were shouts echoing down the beams, but it was impossible to tell if any of the voices belonged to Amory.

I heard two people gasping for air as they came up to the surface, and I was relieved to see Greyson and Logan. I swam toward them, unable to think past the debilitating cold. My limbs were completely numb, and I struggled to focus on Amory, as all thoughts except the biting cold were pushed to the far corners of my brain.

Logan was choking and spluttering uncontrollably, and she looked disoriented.

“Hurry,” Greyson coughed, turning to the opposite shore and breaking into a choppy stroke.
 

I flailed my arms, trying to emulate his purposeful movements, but it was difficult to gain control of my body. The icy water froze me to the core, and I felt myself shaking uncontrollably. My muscles seized, and it was just sheer force of will that kept them propelling forward into the freezing black water.

Although the width of the crossing looked manageable from the bridge, fighting the choppy waves with my nonresponsive muscles made the shore seem impossibly far away. My teeth chattered uncontrollably, and my arms moved without consulting my brain.
 

I watched Logan’s head as she bobbed precariously close to the water’s surface. Greyson’s freestyle stroke was practiced and purposeful; Logan looked as if she was struggling to keep herself buoyant.
 

We swam directly alongside the bridge to stay out of range for any lingering PMC snipers and to ensure that we cut a straight line across the river.
 

It was difficult with the current. Huge waves pummeled my body, sending a rush of cold water into my mouth and nose with every stroke.

I tried to redirect my thoughts to distract myself from the pain and the cold, but whenever I took my mind off of pulling myself through the water to stay in motion, my thoughts of Max and Amory sent a rush of cold through my chest that had nothing to do with the water. Would they kill Amory instantly as they slaughtered the rebels? Or would they imprison him and torture him for information he did not have?

I became aware of Logan crying as she struggled through the water. She was gasping for breaths, and her mouth dipped below the surface periodically, causing her to splutter and cough.

“I — c-can’t — anymore,” she cried. I treaded water next to her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. I couldn’t get her and me both to shore. My legs were cramping already from the cold and fatigue.

“You have to,” I said. “Look, it’s not that far.”

She hiccupped, tears still swimming in her eyes. “M-Max. And — Amory. What about Amory?”

My stomach wrenched, and I didn’t know what to say. Greyson paddled back to us. His cheeks were bright red from the cold, but he didn’t look as bad as I felt. He regarded Logan with compassion, and I was reminded why Greyson had been my friend all my life.

“We’re going to get him back,” he said with certainty. “We’re going to get to shore and make a plan.” His eyes flitted to mine, and I understood his words were as much for me as for Logan.

“We’ll get him back,” I repeated. I hoped she couldn’t hear the doubt in my voice. It seemed very unlikely that Amory was even alive. I couldn’t think about that now.

Logan nodded, and I saw that familiar resolve return to her face. The three of us resumed our clumsy swim toward shore. We were definitely closer than before, although we had drifted farther downriver during our brief exchange.

I pressed on, ignoring the numbness spreading through my body. Logan’s lips were turning blue, but I didn’t allow myself to consider the possibility that we might not make it to the other side.

Then I felt my toes graze soft mud. Gasping with relief and exhaustion, I lurched forward to find solid footing. Logan cried out in disbelief, and we trudged through the mud on foot the remaining distance. My shoulders left the water, and then it came up to my torso. My exposed skin stung painfully as the wind hit my drenched body, and I recoiled against the breeze.

We splashed through the shallow water along the shore and collapsed onto the snow-frosted ground, crawling on our hands and knees.
 

“We — need — t-to — g-get — warm,” I gasped through chattering teeth.

“Didn’t think you were gonna make it,” drawled a voice from the trees.

I jumped and looked around in wild panic. Godfrey strode out into view, offering a hand to Logan and staring at me with a mixture of satisfaction and genuine surprise.

“Course, seeing how we thought you all were PMC spies, I kinda hoped you wouldn’t.”

“You told us about the bridge,” said Greyson. I could hear the realization and distrust creep into his voice. He jumped to his feet. “You knew we’d be ambushed.”