The Legend (14 page)

“As you wish,” Jupiter replies, unconcerned.

Even the lure of the massive truck does not snap Michael from his melancholy, and he opts to travel in the Subaru with me, as does Kwan. Chase, Archer and Jethro climb into the converted container, but Reed clambers up into the cab itself. No doubt he has convinced Patrick to give him a turn at the wheel until we reach the Humvee.

 

 

chapter 20

W
e travel to the fences in an intimidating convoy, but my heart is in my throat. I have never approached with so little care for the guards at the fences, and despite Jupiter's assurances the hair on my scalp is prickling in anticipation of a problem. When we come to a stop in a cloud of dust and the screeching of the semi's airbrakes, Sam leaps nimbly to the ground, a wad of notes in his hand. He approaches one of the guards, turning his head left and right. He seems to be looking for someone. I gnaw my lip, drumming impatiently on the dash. The guard that Sam is speaking to is shaking his head and his eyes narrow as he peers up at the truck.

“Something is wrong,” I murmur.

I watch as Jupiter gets out of the container, straightening his suit collar as he descends the steps leading down to the ground. He glides towards Sam who turns as he approaches, and the expression on the black man's face confirms all my fears. Reed, still in the semi, has sensed it too and the small group of men at the fence all turn to stare as the roar of the great engine reaches them. I know what Reed is going to do before he does it, and I pull out beside him as he rams the gas and tears through the boundary fence as though it were paper. Jupiter gives a cry of outrage and I skid to a halt beside him. Kwan already has the back door open.

“Get in!” I yell, as the guards around the fence surge forward. “Now!”

Kwan grabs Jupiter's arm and hauls him into the back seat, Sam right behind him. The guard they were speaking to is so distracted by the semi that he barely notices. Michael's body is rigid with tension beside me, and I slam on the gas before the back door is even closed. The tyres screech in protest as smoke billows up behind us, and then the Subaru surges forward, careening after the semi.

“Don't stop!” Michael yells, as two of the NUSA guards step daringly into our path.

“I wasn't planning on it,” I reply, driving straight at them. At the last moment, they dive out of the way and the 4x4 lurches violently over a fallen post before we cross the State Line.

“What the hell have you done?” Jupiter is gibbering with rage.

“I thought you paid them enough to get us through!” I snap, approaching the truck in front of us so quickly that I almost nudge it. At the back of my mind I worry that Morgan has warned them after all.

“I do! Something must have happened.”

“No. We happened.” I glance in the rear-view mirror and see Kwan shaking his head. “We came through this section of the fence. In fact, we've been targeting the Missouri fences since the day you woke up,” he reminds me and I loudly curse my own foolishness. Of course our violent entrance would have been reported to Kenneth Williams. We killed a fair number of soldiers on our way in – most of whom were no doubt on Jupiter's payroll. Their replacements would not be so tolerant of Jupiter's comings and goings.

“Do you mean to tell me I can't get back in?” Jupiter asks after Kwan has relayed the story. His voice is incredulous.

“I'll get you back in,” I promise, reflecting that I might not have to make good on that promise if we are caught. NUSA will be after us, and an eighteen-wheeler is going to be a hell of a lot harder to hide than our usual means of transport. There is no time for Jupiter to argue as the truck slows and comes to a stop outside the storage shed. I leave the engine running and join Reed and Jethro as they leap down from the semi and streak inside.

“Close call,” Reed drawls, unfazed as ever as he opens the driver's door of the Humvee. Jethro is already in the car, waiting to go.

“I can't believe I was so stupid.” Out of the corner of my eye I see Archer leap from the trailer of the semi. He joins us a moment later.

“None of us thought about it, Tiny. Besides, we had a lot going on.” His face darkens as the subject dances dangerously close to Morgan's betrayal. “You'd better get going,” he adds. “We'll see if we can make contact with the exiled group and convince them to come back with us.”

“I doubt they'll argue,” Archer interrupts. “It's hardly as if they'll have anywhere else to go.”

“It's more than that,” I point out. “They'll effectively think we're asking them to switch sides. Make it clear that they don't have to fight – offer them a place in town at the least.”

Reed nods his understanding. “You'd better step on it,” he says, not bothering to hide his concern. “Get out of here as fast as you can.”

“We'll drive straight through,” I promise.

“It's over five hundred miles.”

“We'll take turns. Archer, I need you to stay with Chase and the others. We're going home.” I watch as he turns back in the direction of the truck and climbs up into the passenger seat beside Patrick. Jupiter wordlessly gets into the container with Sam, joining Lydia, Randall and Chase.

“Be safe,” I beg, giving Reed and Jethro one last look, and then I race back towards the Subaru.

The truck pulls out behind me, Patrick at the wheel, and a moment later I spot the Humvee emerge from the shed and turn in the opposite direction.

We are only a mile from the fence and it is imperative that we use the small lead we have. Kwan is poring over the maps on the back seat and he guides me on a new route, one that NUSA wouldn't expect us to take. Our only advantage is that we know the Rebeldom better than they do. Soldiers who have lived within the States for most of their lives fear the barren lands and will proceed far more cautiously.

Only after an hour of non-stop weaving through long-forgotten streets do I feel safe enough to pull over to the shoulder and check on everybody in the truck. To my surprise, Jupiter is cradling a terrified Sam against his chest, his sloe-eyes hard. I have to admire his composure. I'm pretty sure he is regretting his decision to help us, but there is not much he can do about it now.

“Are you all okay?” I ask.

“What do you think?” Jupiter snarls. So much for his composure.

“I'm sorry, I didn't expect any of this.”

“Sorry doesn't change anything,” he replies coldly and I sigh, hoping that this won't complicate matters.

“Just try to get some rest. We've still got a long way to go.”

The journey is arduous and fraught with tension. Too often, we have to backtrack because the semi is not able to navigate the rough terrain. Kwan and I take turns driving, but neither of us sleeps. We are too wound up, and one of us needs to navigate. Patrick and Randall are in a similar position – taking turns at the wheel of the big rig. I feel a pang of envy towards Jupiter's group gathered in the container; no doubt they are sleeping by now. Michael is sprawled across the back seat of the Subaru, having traded places with Kwan when we stopped at the shed.

“Do you think he'll be okay?” I ask, turning to watch him.

“Sleep is the best thing for him right now,” Kwan replies, making a left turn and eyeing the rear-view mirror to make sure the semi is still following.

“What are we going to do about Morgan?”

“There is nothing we can do.”

“What if they hurt her?” I press. “Torture her, like they did me?”

“I've been thinking about that too,” he admits, “although thankfully it hasn't occurred to Michael yet. But I don't think they will, at least not for now,” he adds. “They're trying too hard to convince her that you are the bad guy, that NUSA's slate is clean. It would be foolish for them to treat her harshly, unless they are absolutely certain she will not give you up. I think we have some time.”

“I hope you're right.”

“We forget that Morgan is no longer a child. She made a choice and, sadly, she will have to live with the consequences.”

“You don't think I pushed her away?”

To my surprise, he chuckles. “I think you give yourself far too much credit. The two of you have never had an easy relationship, but over and over you have proved that you care for them both. Deep down, she knows that.” He echoes Reed's sentiments. “Her actions now have nothing to do with you – not really. She's looking for a scapegoat, and you fit the bill perfectly. Morgan is incredibly strong and intrinsically brave, but every angel has their demons. Kenneth is playing on her greatest weakness – her fear for her brother's safety.”

“And yet here he is,” I gesture at the back seat. “And she's stuck within the borders, not knowing what's become of him.”

“I said she was brave,” he replies wryly. “I didn't say she was smart.”

We finally lumber into the Academy grounds in the early hours of the following morning. I don't think I have ever been so tired, and my eyes feel grainy from lack of sleep. Despite the hour, it is not long before my father comes hurrying towards us, a tired, relieved smile stretching across his crumpled face. After a brief recap of our journey, he shoves me gently in the direction of the barracks.

“Go,” he insists. “I'll deal with this – you go and get some sleep. You look terrible,” he adds, but the concern in his smile softens the words. For once, I do not argue. Nodding gratefully, I make my way to my room and crash.

Over the next few days the Academy is a hive of activity. My father and Jupiter waste no time in setting up the lab, with the General constantly barking instructions. My father, in desperation, eventually delegates the General to recruiting volunteers. I no longer have any desire to force our people into conscription. In fact, I am horrified that I had ever considered it. I cringe as I notice just how many men are prepared to risk their lives undergoing the procedures. Heath and Oliver, the NUSA Gifted soldiers we met in Corning, follow the General's every move. Having served in the NUSA army, I can only assume that they feel comfortable reporting to another military figure. The General and I have always had a somewhat stormy relationship, but I have come to learn that he is as determined as I am to stop Kenneth, although his methods are more extreme. He is prepared to do whatever it takes, and we need someone like him to make the tough calls.

Jupiter and his small group are staying in their trailer, declining all our offers of accommodation. To be fair, the converted container is far more luxurious than anything we could offer them. Jupiter is still sulking, but meeting my father does rouse him temporarily from his dour mood.

Alex is delighted that I have returned and I make sure to spend as much time with him as my busy schedule allows. I am grateful for the distraction as my concern for Reed and Jethro mounts with each passing day. I had known that it might take some time for them to return, but each night I go to bed with a growing sense of dread. I pass Aidan a few times in and around the grounds. I want to speak to him, but he is uncharacteristically distant and with so much else going on, I can never seem to find the right moment.

I am in a dead sleep when I hear a pounding on my door and in seconds I am dressed and yanking it open to find Michael standing in the hall, his face pale.

“They're back,” he pants and, needing no further information, I follow him out into the grounds, my heart in my throat.

What I see is beyond even my wildest expectations. Reed and Jethro, looking grey with exhaustion but elatedly triumphant, are standing at the edge of a group of blue-clad soldiers. On closer inspection, their NUSA uniforms are streaked with dirt and dust. There must be at least forty of them. Reed is chatting to a tall woman with fiery red hair – her curls pulled back into a tight ponytail.

“You made it,” I smile as I approach.

“Did you really have any doubt,” he teases, and then, gesturing me forward, “Rebecca, this is Captain Fiona Hartwell, formerly of the New United States Military. Captain,
this
is Rebecca Davis.”

“Fiona, please,” she insists, offering her right hand and I shake it firmly.

“Strong grip you've got there,” I point out her obvious strength.

“Likewise,” she quips. “It's good to meet you, Miss Davis.”

“Rebecca,” I grin.

 

 

chapter 21

A
dam and Cathy are duly summoned from town, and soon all forty-two of Fiona's soldiers are being fed, cleaned and clothed. Surprisingly, there are also three other women in her group, including Abby who is about my age and speed-Gifted. She sticks close to her captain, rarely leaving Fiona's side.

“Can you tell me what happened?” I ask as we take a seat in the dining hall. Fiona refused to eat until her people were taken care of. Now, she is picking at a sandwich, keeping a wary eye on the soldiers spread throughout the hall. The exiled group has a dejected air about them, and I can understand why. Most would have had family inside the States, family that in all likelihood they would probably not see again.

“When Joseph Hale stepped down and Kenneth Williams took up the presidency, I smelled a rat,” Fiona begins slowly, her amber eyes scanning the room before focusing on me. She looks to be about Reed's age, around thirty years old. “Even before that, I guess. I was never really partial to most of Eric Dane's laws, but I understood the logic – the method behind his madness. And he did enough good that I was prepared to look the other way – abolishing traditional weapons, for one thing.” She is lost in her own thoughts for a few moments and I clear my throat to remind her that I am waiting. “I lost my entire family in the nuclear war,” she explains eventually. “I don't think we should ever bring back weapons engineering.” It is clear from her tone that this was ultimately the disagreement she had with Kenneth.

“You heard about Kenneth reopening the weapons tech division?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “It's always been NUSA's policy that we rely on our Gifted soldiers to protect the States. Weapons are not a defensive manoeuvre – I realised that Kenneth was preparing to go to war.”

“With us,” I murmur, and she nods.

“There is no doubt that you are his intended target, yes, but who is to say it will end there? If 2016 taught us anything it is that powerful men with powerful weapons will always do more harm than good.”

“So you spoke out?” I prompt, wanting to hear more about their exile.

“Yes, we all did. We foolishly believed our strength lay in our numbers. We were wrong. There could have been hundreds of us, and still we would have been banished.”

“I'm not sure if Reed has told you, but we intend to take down the President.”

“Yes, I figured that out all on my own,” she quips, “but if I'm not mistaken you've tried before, and it failed to change anything. What makes you think this time would be any different?”

“Because we will not give another tyrant any opportunity to seize control. We will instate one of our own people in Kenneth's place, effective immediately.”

Fiona raises a dark red eyebrow. “You?”

“No,” I suppress a snort of laughter at the mere thought. “I wouldn't have the first idea how to run a country.”

“Well, there's something in that, at least,” she muses. “People who seek power for themselves seldom do any good. Those who want to secure it for someone else usually have an altruistic motive. But how can you be sure that this proposed replacement will be any better than the fools who have gone before him?”

“Because that's him over there.” I point to where Adam is handing out clothing and reassuring the new arrivals. In his quiet, humble way, Adam's concern for these lost souls is tangible – he cares for them just as deeply as he cares for his own people, and the Deranged whom he has dedicated his life to saving.

Fiona regards him steadily and I hold my breath, waiting for her reaction. To my dismay, she gives no indication as to her thoughts and takes a bite of her sandwich instead. There is nothing for it but to wait – she will make up her mind when she is good and ready, and not a moment before.

The following evening I make my way to the dojo to practise. Much to my surprise, Jupiter is there, along with Lydia and Sam. Lydia is examining the contents of a silver briefcase and as I approach I give a start of surprise at its contents. Row upon row of small, shiny daggers are nestled in the velvet casing. Lydia withdraws one and tosses it into the air, the blade spinning four times before she catches it expertly in her right hand.

“Punching bag,” Jupiter drawls, slinging his arm around Sam's thin bony shoulders. Lydia doesn't hesitate. She spins on the spot, hurling the dagger at the red punching bag a few feet from me. The silver blade whizzes past my right ear and pierces the red leather, the blade embedded in the bag. Lydia smiles benignly at me and turns back to the briefcase.

“Oh hello, Rebecca. I didn't see you there,” Jupiter drawls unconvincingly.

“I'm sure you didn't,” I retort, crossing the room to join them and keeping my voice light.

“Blue chair,” Jupiter flicks his hand lazily at the opposite end of the room and I hear the hiss of air and a soft thud as the second dagger finds its target. As if reading my thoughts, Jupiter explains.

“Lydia is Gifted with strength.”

“Strength has nothing to do with her aim,” I concede, impressed.

“She's been practising a long time.”

“Apparently.”

“Are you here to train?”

“Yes.”

“Lydia,” Jupiter beckons her over. “You don't mind?” he adds, raising an immaculate eyebrow at me.

“Not at all.” I take up position in the centre of the empty space and Lydia faces me.

Like ghosts, Patrick and Randall emerge from the shadows to watch us, and out of the corner of my eye I notice Sam snuggle even closer to Jupiter. I know that Jupiter is still seething over his loss of control of the Missouri fences and I wonder if this is some elaborate trick. I wait patiently for Lydia to make the first move but the brunette stands perfectly still, eyeing me warily and doing the same.

Heaving a sigh, I dart forward, grab her right arm and twist it up behind her back. She gives a gasp of pain but twists violently, freeing her arm and at the same time bringing her knee up into my stomach, winding me. I grab her leg before it touches the ground again and jerk it upwards, unbalancing her. She crashes to the ground, landing on her coccyx, and I hear Jupiter chuckle. Lydia's eyes flash with anger and she leaps to her feet, backing up a few paces and waiting me out.

“You know you're welcome to join our training programme,” I offer, but she rolls her eyes. “Kwan is the best mentor,” I add, as we start to circle each other. “He works wonders with the Legion.”

“We are not your Legion,” Jupiter reminds me coldly. “We play no part in your war.”

As I turn to look at him, Lydia leaps into the air and her fist comes thundering down towards me. Faster than a cat, I dive aside, using my hands to propel myself off the ground as I sweep my legs back in an arc. As Lydia lands, I trip her up. She knocks her face on the cushioned mat and a small trickle of blood appears at the corner of her mouth. I step forward and offer her my hand, and she takes it reluctantly. I pull her to her feet and regard her thoughtfully.

“I'm impressed,” I concede, “but it's not really a fair fight. Come on – I have a better idea.”

“Ready?” I ask, holding the Bo in my hands. Lydia nods, grinning, the briefcase on the table in front of her. Even Jupiter and Sam look animated, leaning forward to watch. “Okay, go,” I say, and she flings her right arm forward, the small dagger hurtling through the air towards me. I swing the Bo to the right and knock it off its trajectory, already tracking the next, which is in mid-air. Lydia doesn't hesitate, she throws one dagger after another. The tenth is my undoing and, unable to deflect it, I throw myself towards the ground, using the Bo as an anchor, and rolling forward in a low somersault. There is a moment's silence and then Jupiter laughs, a low grumbling sound, and he starts to clap. Lydia bobs a small curtsy, and I get to my feet.

“You win,” I smile, setting the Bo staff down and picking up one of the daggers. I test the point on my fingertip and a small drop of blood blossoms on my pale skin. “Your girlfriend is more than just a pretty face,” I call over to Jupiter, testing a theory, and he gives a peal of laughter. Lydia also looks amused, but Sam scowls sulkily.

“Lydia is my sister,” Jupiter corrects, taking Sam's hand and confirming my suspicions about his sexuality.

“Still more than just a pretty face,” I utter casually.

I am chatting to my dad the following morning as we watch Alex playing ball with Michael. As usual, Brooke is with us and she has roped Heath and Oliver into pushing her on the swing. Heath's group is naturally good-humoured, especially Oliver and Matt, who never stop joking amongst themselves.

“Higher!” Brooke screeches over her shoulder and Oliver pushes her so hard that Heath ducks in order to avoid being pulverised as she comes flying the opposite way.

“Take it easy!” Heath grumbles, but Oliver simply shrugs.

“I obviously don't know my own strength,” he teases, unapologetic. Neither my dad nor I can help smiling. Oliver is well liked by everyone and he reminds me poignantly of Tim, one of my soldiers who had died after being attacked by a Deranged man when we explored the west coast.

“I didn't think I would ever meet anyone weirder than Adam,” I say, getting back to our conversation.

“Nor did I,” my dad agrees. “He's a piece of work, that Jupiter. So, Lydia is his sister and Sam his lover?”

“Yep,” I nod in affirmation and then add timidly, “you don't mind that I promised him your help, when this is all over?”

“Not at all, Bex. We need his lab. And, to be honest, I'm intrigued. When this is all over I can think of nothing more exciting than helping Jupiter with his projects. I mean, air travel? Think of the possibilities.”

I know exactly what he means. Air travel and satellite communications would enable us to make contact with the rest of the planet, to find out what has become of the world outside America.

“When are you going to tell Reed?” my dad asks, changing the subject, and we both watch as Brooke gets off the swing, steals the ball away from Alex and races towards her own goal.

“Soon.” I am dreading telling Reed the truth about Brooke. Up until now I have been fooling myself that I am waiting for the right moment, but in truth I am nervous of his reaction to the fact that I have kept it a secret for so long. I know Reed – he won't take it lightly.