The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy) (13 page)

Kinsley was slashing at two carriers at once. They were faster and stronger than the others, but he was lightning fast with his blades. If I hadn’t been terrified for him, I would have been amused. His lanky, overgrown frame should have been awkward and messy as he swooped his arms through the air, but his movements were skilled and precise.
 

I jumped in on his left and stabbed the second carrier through the heart. She howled and fell to her scraped knees. This one still had her cropped auburn hair. She was in her midthirties — stage three, as far as I could tell — and she looked unnervingly human.

As I stabbed the carrier, Kinsley’s let out a horrible wail and charged him with renewed fury. Kinsley stumbled. The carrier grabbed him by the shoulders, sinking his teeth into the boy’s neck and ripping into the flesh.

Kinsley yelled, and I stabbed my knife into the carrier’s back, shoving him to the ground. Kinsley gasped, clutching his throat as it spewed blood, and I lurched forward to clasp him under the arms.
 

I barely slowed his fall to the ground. Kinsley was numb with shock. Reaching down to slit the hem of my shirt with Amory’s knife, I tore off a length of fabric and wrapped it around his neck, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Help!” I cried. “Somebody help me!”

I wheeled around, ears ringing from the gunshots, searching desperately for someone who could help him.

Kinsley shook his head once, and I was alarmed to see a fresh deluge of blood seeping through the cloth. “S’all right,” he croaked. “Go.”

“No. No! I’m staying with you.”

“Haven . . . you c-can’t.”

My hands were shaking as I tightened the rudimentary bandage around his neck. I had no real first aid training. I didn’t know how to help him. Godfrey and Amory were wrestling a pair of stronger carriers that had broken through the ranks, but the others’ shots were growing farther apart. They had nearly exterminated the horde.

I staggered to my feet, unsure what to do. I wouldn’t leave Kinsley. All I could see was the helpless boy who’d trailed after Rulon and done all the rebels’ dirty work. He was only sixteen, and he had no one.

There was too much blood. It was all over me. I fell to my knees, hands shaking, trying to put Kinsley back together. I looked around, but everyone else was still focused on fending off the last group of carriers emerging from the woods. Bodies fell, and no one noticed the boy bleeding on the ground.

Finally, the last carrier lurching from the woods went down, and Greyson lowered his rifle.

Godfrey stopped pummeling his carrier, and his hand came away gleaming. He was wearing brass knuckles. Then he shuffled to his feet on the crimson snow and aimed his handgun at the carrier’s head. The shot rang out, and everything went quiet.

After the last carrier huffed his final breath, the woods were still. Everyone looked lost, shell-shocked, and broken, but the silence roused my urgency.
 

Kinsley’s face was deathly pale, and his eyelids were half-closed.
 

I pushed myself to my feet and gripped him under the arms, but he was too heavy.

“Help!” I croaked. “Help me move him!”

A few defectors cowering near the campfire looked at me but did not move.

“Please!” I yelled. “Help me!”

Amory was the first one at my side. His hands went around my waist, pulling me away from Kinsley. His expression was grave, but he hunkered down and hoisted Kinsley off the ground and over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

I followed him to the medical tent, where a woman with spiky black hair was rushing toward us. She was dressed in a navy medic jumpsuit and covered in blood, though whether it was human or carrier blood, I could not tell.
 

A memory stirred in the back of my mind, and I remembered her giving Logan a blood transfusion and patching up my wounds after an attack on Rulon’s camp.

“Shriver!” I yelped in recognition.

Amory’s eyebrows shot up, and his face went slack with shock.

“Shriver! You have to help him!”

She exchanged a look with Amory but did not speak. Amory shook his head once, and I shoved him in anger.

“Do something! He’s losing a lot of blood!”

Shriver stared at me wordlessly but ducked into the tent and helped Amory lower Kinsley onto one of the low cots crowded into the small space.

The dim light from the lantern hanging on the bar across the top of the tent threw gaunt shadows on Kinsley’s pinched white face. His eyes were closed, and the rudimentary bandage I had made was caked with blood. It seeped down his neck and had left a large stain on Amory’s shoulder.

“No,” I murmured.
 

Desperate, I sank down beside him and shook his shoulder gently. Kinsley’s eyes fluttered, and I snapped my head to Shriver to make sure she had seen. Then Kinsley coughed, and I heard the miserable gurgle of blood. It bubbled from his lips, and his eyes wrinkled in pain.

Shriver reached for a syringe on the shiny metal table and plunged its contents into his arm. “That should take the pain away,” she said in a gentle voice I’d never heard her use.

“What are you doing?” I asked, panicked. “Can’t you stop the bleeding?”

But Shriver’s eyes were fixated on the ugly ripped flesh sticking out from the crusty piece of fabric.

“I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for him,” she said.

“W-What do you mean? The carrier wasn’t stage five.”

“His carotid artery has been severed. He’s not going to make it.”

“No!” I cried, gripping Kinsley’s arm. But I could already feel him slipping away. His body was still.

Despair washed over me as I stared at his motionless face dotted with light freckles. I wanted to shake him awake — to do something — but I couldn’t move or breathe. It felt as though someone were sitting on my chest, choking the life out of me.

There was a commotion outside, and then Roman and Godfrey burst in carrying a man who was bleeding profusely from his abdomen.

Shriver turned to the man, and I reached out to grab her. “No! You have to do something.”

But I knew it was futile. She turned, and that detachment I remembered was back. Her eyes had gone cold behind her huge glasses, and she jerked her shoulder away. I wanted to scream at her for failing to save him, but it felt as though
I
had failed. I couldn’t reach him in time. I couldn’t save him.

Amory touched my arm. “Haven. He’s gone.”

I looked down at Kinsley, lying there bloody and broken. He looked
so
young. It wasn’t right.
 

Tears clouded my vision, and I was gripping the edge of his cot so tightly my fingers ached.
 

“Come on,” Amory muttered, putting an arm under me and hoisting me to my feet. I dug in my heels, but he pulled me away easily.
 

I knew he wanted to get me out of there so Roman and Godfrey could cover Kinsley’s face and haul him out of the tent to make room for more wounded rebels. I didn’t want them to take him.
What if he was still alive?
I didn’t want him to think I’d left him alone when he needed me most.

Logan and Greyson nearly collided with us as we stepped into the darkness.

Logan’s eyes were tight as she spoke. “Is he . . .?”
 

“He’s dead,” I said. My voice sounded flat.
 

Logan’s face went rigid with shock, and tears flooded her eyes.
 

“We need to haul off the carriers,” said Greyson. “The smell of the dead ones will attract more.”

Amory threw him a warning look, but I appreciated Greyson’s pragmatism most when things were the worst — even when he seemed insensitive. Taking care of practical matters left less time to mourn, less time to feel sorry for yourself.

We followed him out to the center of camp where the rebels were gathered. Ida was speaking to a small group of older defectors I recognized, and she looked grim. A hush fell over the crowd, and Ida stepped onto a log to speak.

“We faced a great loss today. This was nothing I ever prepared you for, and for that, I am sorry.”

“How did it happen?” yelled a woman hysterically. She was cradling one arm across her chest, and her hair stuck up everywhere, making her look crazy.

“Yeah!” said a man. “How did carriers get through the border?”

Ida pushed her hands down toward the ground, and the crowd hushed on her command. “I have been away containing a situation at the border. A rebel leader by the name of Rulon Jacobson has been threatening to release carriers across the border. He represents a radical group of insurgents who started the riots in Sector X, and his violence has escalated in recent months.

“Rulon was killed — by his own pack of carriers at the border crossing — and we were able to contain the situation . . . or so I thought. This must not have been his first attempt to compromise the border. I suspect he is responsible for releasing this horde and others into the New Northern Territory.”

A murmur of terror ripped through the crowd, and I was reminded that the majority of the defectors from the communes had fled the states to escape the virus.

“Now that we face threats from every side, we cannot stay here,” Ida continued. “It’s too dangerous. We’ll tend to the wounded and then be on our way.”

“Where will we go?” asked a small man in the front.

“I said before that a small group would cross the border to establish a base in the states while the rest of us attempted to infiltrate the communes. I have reached a decision. Godfrey will lead the party south. Amory, Roman, Logan, Haven, and Greyson have experience with the dangers of the states.”

Ida turned to us. “The PMC took my farm, but if you can reclaim it, I think it would be an ideal place to gather our forces. Find yourself a small contingency of soldiers in the states, and take it back if you can. Take whatever weapons you need.”

Logan nodded, but Roman and Amory both crossed their arms over their chests. I didn’t say anything.

“The rest of you, please prepare to be on the move within the hour.”

A rush of chatter spread through the crowd, and Logan straightened up, looking excited. “We’re going back,” she said. “I can’t believe we’re going back.”

“If we can take the farm,” added Amory. He looked angry, but I didn’t know why.

Greyson shrugged and trailed off after Logan to go gather supplies.

I turned to Amory, unsure what to say. I was in this, and I was confused by what I had felt after saving Amory from the carrier. I was still missing so much of my past, and I didn’t know where I fit in anymore.

“You could have told me,” said Amory, staring at me with a stormy expression.

“Told you what?”

He looked disgusted. “Don’t lie, Haven. I’m not an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?”

He lifted a dark eyebrow, his gray eyes flashing. “You remember.”
 

“Just some things,” I said, thinking of my memories of Greyson, Max, and the urge to protect Amory when that carrier almost killed him.

Amory shook his head bitterly. “Like what?”

“I remember going on runs with Greyson. I feel like I felt back then.” I shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”

Amory nodded again. “So that’s how it is now.”

“How
what
is now?” I snapped. I already didn’t like whatever conclusions he had formed.

“You can’t have it both ways.”

“What?”

“I
know
you remember, Haven. You remember everyone else, so you have to remember me, too.”

“Who else?”

“Greyson, Logan, Shriver,
Kinsley
,” he spat. His emphasis on Kinsley’s name felt like a low blow. “I know you remember Roman, too, because you lock horns with him as much as you did before.”

“I
remember
everyone, but I don’t remember . . . the important things,” I finished, knowing it didn’t make any sense.

But Amory was still shaking his head. He didn’t believe me. “And you don’t remember me?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, you could have just said so.”

For a moment, I just stared at him, and I could see the deep hurt behind his anger. Then he tore his eyes away and stormed off.

I trailed behind him, desperately curious and terrified at what I was missing. From his conversation with Roman, I surmised we had been
together
,
but it bothered me that I couldn’t remember it.
 

Amory was walking so fast I almost had to jog to keep up. When I finally caught him on the edge of the woods, I grabbed his arm and yanked him around to face me.

“
Tell
me then! If I can’t remember, you should at least tell me what I’m missing. What was I to you before?”

Amory’s face was conflicted. Rage and confusion and hurt were fighting for dominance. “You really don’t remember?”

I shook my head.

And then he did something I hadn’t expected. Amory grabbed me by the arms and pulled me into him. He pressed his lips against my mouth, hot and angry.
 

My mouth went slack in shock, and his lips worked around mine. The kiss wasn’t warm or romantic, but he was pouring so much of himself into every breath that it made my chest ache.

Part of me didn’t want him to stop, but this wasn’t right. I didn’t like him kissing me when I felt I was missing something crucial.

After a second, I came to my senses and shoved him away with both hands. His arm was locked around my waist, crushing me to him, but his lips disconnected with a wet smack. He pulled back, looking smug.
 

“What was that?” I spluttered.

“You remember?”

“No,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I think I would remember such a violent kisser.”

For a second, I saw the shadow of laughter playing in his eyes, but then they narrowed into steely slits. “Why is it just me?”

“It’s
not
!”
I shouted. “I barely remember anything good about my life! Do you know how that feels? To have no idea who you are or the type of person you were? For all I know, I was working against you all the whole time. Maybe I was a terrible person. All I know is what I was taught and what I feel now.”