The Legend (21 page)

 

chapter 30

R
eed and I are on our way back from a visit to town one afternoon when I stop at the main gate to check the integrity of the fence. The flooding caused a lot of erosion and we are concerned that the boundary may have been compromised.

“Rebecca!” Reed's low urgent voice attracts my attention and I spin around to see Jethro waving frantically at us. Immediately, Reed and I speed over to him. Standing in the shadow of the main building, he tells us what has happened.

“It's Morgan. She made contact with one of the southern scouts a few hours ago. She's in Cumming, about thirty miles out. She wants to meet you at dawn tomorrow – she says she's alone.”

“Did the scout see anyone else?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “But it could be a trap.”

“Where does she want to meet?”

“A cemetery on Old Atlanta Road.”

“Well, that's pleasant. Where's Michael?”

“No idea. Last I saw he was headed down to the outdoor track field. I think he's running a few training exercises.”

“Not a word to him,” I instruct, “or anyone else. I want to keep this quiet.”

“I haven't told anyone,” he affirms.

“Who did she make contact with?”

“Anderson. He told the General, and the General told me to find you.”

“I want him in the boardroom in five minutes.”

As Jethro rushes off, Reed turns to me. “He's right. It could be a trap.”

“I know. But I have to go. If it is a trap and I don't go, she might bring them here.”

“I thought that was the plan.”

“I prefer to give her the benefit of the doubt. I don't want to believe that Morgan would betray us. She may want to come back.”

“If she wanted to come back, she'd be back,” he points out rationally.

“I have to go.”

“I know. I'm coming with you.”

I don't argue. “Meet me in the boardroom. I'm going to get Kwan – he's more likely to get through to her.”

“Cumming is only thirty miles from here,” the General points out unnecessarily, as Kwan and I walk through the door.

“I know.” If Morgan has betrayed us, it means that there could be a NUSA convoy practically on our doorstep. I had wanted NUSA to find us, but now that there was a likely possibility they had, I wasn't so sure. We weren't ready.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. In the early hours of the morning. It'll take us less than an hour to get there, but I want to survey the area before daybreak.”

“You see anything we should be worrying about, you leave the girl and head straight back. We'll need the warning. McCoy's going with you?”

“Yes, and Kwan,” I add. “Make sure no one says a word about this. The last thing we need is for people to panic.”

“Or the boy setting out in search of his sister.” He voices what I have been thinking.

“Exactly.”

“Good luck, Miss Davis.”

We set out in the dark early the following morning. It is cold enough that I zip up my fleece hoodie and pull it up over my head. Even Reed is wearing a leather jacket over his familiar T-shirt, and he never feels the cold.

“You drive like a madman, you know that?” I hiss, after my jaws bang painfully together for the third time. Reed smirks as if I have just paid him a compliment. I turn to look in the back and notice Kwan's knuckles are white from gripping his seat. I am almost sure he was on the opposite side of the car when we started out. “You should let me drive,” I add, but Reed fixes me with a stern look.

“This is my car,” he points out territorially. I have never understood his fascination with the NUSA Humvees, but there is no point in arguing with him.

We make it to Cumming with plenty of time to spare. There is not even a tinge of pink on the horizon yet. Reed parks a few miles from the cemetery and we journey the rest of the way on foot.

“It's just up there,” Reed whispers when we get close, and we glance around for some place where we can get a good vantage point.

“Up there,” Kwan points towards a large abandoned factory that overlooks the eastern section of the cemetery. Like ghosts, we slip inside and climb the dilapidated stairs to the second floor, making our way across to the filthy windows. We push them open as quietly as possible, the rusted metal hinges making it more difficult, and then we peer through the gloom.

“You're not going to see much with those,” I say as Reed takes out his binoculars. “It's dark.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, I would never have known.” I can sense his eye-roll, even if I can't see it in the dark. “The sun will be up soon,” he adds.

The night is ominously still as we wait for the light of daybreak. A faint pink hue is the first sign of the impending dawn, and together we scan the surrounding area. There is no sign of life.

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” Reed murmurs.

“There's nothing out there,” I point out.

“Not that we can see.”

“She wouldn't betray us,” Kwan interjects. “Morgan has a good heart, she just . . .”

“Quiet!” Reed hisses, lifting the binoculars and peering through them. “There,” he points down at the street, in the direction of the cemetery. “What's that?”

I focus as hard as I can, my eyes peering through the faint light. I curse the instant I recognise the lone figure making his way cautiously down the street.

“I'm going to kill that boy!” I rush from the window and down the stairs, my heart in my throat.

“Michael!” I call as I speed up behind him. “What the hell do you think you're doing here?” He looks anything but contrite; in fact, just the opposite.

“And how in God's name did you get here?” Reed adds over my shoulder.

“I walked,” he answers the easier question first. “I left last night – I heard Jethro telling you where the meeting would take place.”

“You can't be here. You shouldn't even know about this.”

“I heard you,” he bites out. “But she's my sister. You can't keep me from her.”

“I wasn't trying to!” I moan in frustration. “It's not about keeping you from Morgan – I just need to establish that she doesn't pose a threat to us.”

“She's coming home,” he persists, not even acknowledging my point, which intimates that Morgan may still betray us. “Today. I'm not leaving here without her. Just let me talk to her.”

“Michael, please, listen to me! I need you to go . . . now. As soon as it's safe, I'll . . .”

“Too late,” Reed mutters and I follow his gaze to see a curly blonde head moving between the headstones. My sigh of relief is short lived as I spot a second, taller figure walking behind her.

“She's not alone.” I turn to Reed to ask him to get Michael out of here, but the question dies on my lips as Michael bounds forward, running straight towards his sister.

We stampede after him, reaching Morgan and her father only a second after he does. Michael envelops Morgan in a bear hug, but I notice he eyes his father warily.

“Morgan,” I step forward, putting myself between Michael and the others, “you said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes,” she nods defiantly. “I want you to release my brother and let him return with us.”

My heart sinks. Morgan doesn't want to return at all. She wants what she wanted from the beginning – for Michael to join her. Simon Kelly seems nervous, although I hardly blame him, and he tugs compulsively at the edge of his checked shirt.

“That's crazy,” Michael answers before I find my voice. “I'm not going to NUSA. You're being stupid, Morgan. Just come back with us, you know it's where you belong.”

“She belongs with me,” Simon Kelly's hateful voice interrupts. “As do you, son.”

“I'm not your son,” Michael sneers. “You stopped being my father the day you let Eric Dane take me from our house.”

“You were never in any danger, Michael,” Simon manages to inject just the right amount of outraged hurt into his voice. “Do you really think I would have let you go with them if you were? You didn't come to any harm with Eric, did you?”

I can practically hear the cogs of Michael's brain turning. Dear God, don't let him be taken in by his father's lies too, as Morgan so obviously has been.

“All Eric Dane wanted was to ensure that you were taken care of – to protect you from the Resistance. He didn't want them using you.” Simon's voice is almost hypnotic. “You've been fed lies by the Resistance – by this woman,” he eyes me with disgust. “Your sister and I want you to come home, son.”

I am so flabbergasted by his hypocrisy that I am speechless, and a long pregnant pause follows his words. Morgan's haughty expression makes it clear that her father's logic has her fooled, and I fear that I am about to lose Michael too.

“You know,” Michael begins, speaking slowly but steadily, “that would make a lot of sense,
if
you hadn't forced me to go against my will. If NUSA wanted to protect us, why didn't they just ask? I don't believe your lies,” he spits, “and I
told
you,
don't
call me son.”

“Michael!” I hear Morgan's wail of protest but I am too focused on her father to pay any attention. Not only does he not look surprised, but he looks almost expectant . . . as though he is waiting for something. Unconsciously, he tugs at his shirt again, and my body goes rigid with understanding.

I dart forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around. As I do, I jerk up the back of his shirt and expose a small black device clipped on to his belt. A single red light is flashing ominously on the display.

“What is that?” Even Morgan is too stunned to react to my manhandling her father.

“It's a tracking device,” I reply, pushing Simon away from me. “You son of a bitch.”

“No . . . it can't . . . you promised me!” Morgan's voice rings with disbelief. “You promised that we were just here to talk. You said we would go back, with or without Michael, and let them be!”

“Morgan,” Kwan groans, “your father has betrayed you, just like before. I know you're confused and angry, but he's not what you think.”

“You people are terrorists,” Simon retorts furiously. “My children may not understand it, but you need to be brought to justice.”

“The only reason I'm not going to rip your head off, you sick fucker, is because you actually believe that,” Reed growls at him, before grabbing my shoulder. “We gotta move, Tiny. They'll be here any second.”

“They already are,” Kwan says, as a fleet of black vehicles surrounds the cemetery before screeching to a halt.

“Definitely time to go!” Reed roars. I grab Michael's arm, pushing him towards Kwan.

“Morgan,” I plead, my fear for their safety outweighing everything else, “please!”

With one last disgusted look at her father, she takes a hesitant step towards me. Simon Kelly reaches out to take hold of her, but I meet his eye over her shoulder.

“You lay one finger on her and I swear to God it'll be the last thing you ever do.”

We sprint to the left, where the guards are slightly less concentrated, but there is no way we will get past them without a fight. Desperately, I throw myself into the fray, unleashing all my training. To my horror, Kenneth Williams seems to have abandoned all hope of securing the Legion's loyalty and has ordered his men to kill us, not simply to apprehend us. There is no hesitation about the brute force being unleashed upon us. This is a fight to the death. I slam my fists into too many faces to count, Reed's war cries rending the air around me. I have lost track of the others, overwhelmed by the NUSA guards who have clustered around us, hemming us in. I am jostled this way and that, but slowly I am making my way towards the edge of the throng of bodies.

Amidst the chaos I hear Simon Kelly screaming at the top of his lungs. Michael and Morgan are somewhere in this melee, fighting for their lives. No doubt when Kenneth enlisted Simon's services, he failed to mention that Michael and Morgan's lives would be at risk. Too late, I think coldly, as I hear his desperate pleas for the guards to leave his children alone.

If Simon Kelly's yells have no effect on me, Morgan's sudden howl of despair is just the opposite. Her ear-splitting howl of utter desolation freezes the blood in my veins. There is only one thing in the world that would elicit such a raw, primeval reaction from the strong, pig-headed girl.

I move frantically in the direction of her screams – blood-curdling, spine-chilling shrieks that go on and on without ceasing. Finally I spot her blonde hair through the crush. She is not even attempting to fight; she is standing perfectly still, her hands over her eyes, her body racked with sobs, while Kwan and Reed fight an army around her.

I meet Reed's eye, and time stands still. The hollow anguish in his gaze confirms what I see for myself a second later. And the world implodes around me. I wish I was dead, gone, anywhere but here. Because I cannot allow myself to believe that Michael Kelly is lying dead on the ground.

 

 

chapter 31

A
blunt blow to the back of my head sends me reeling forward and I stumble over Michael's lifeless body.

“Rebecca!” Reed's desperate cry urges me to my feet and I turn my back so that he, Kwan and I are forming a protective triangle around Morgan's pathetic figure. It brings back memories of when we fought the same way in the lobby of my former residence, trying to save Aidan. We had failed then, but I would not let Morgan die. The black rage that I have worked so hard to let go of, rears its ugly head and I let it consume me, fuelling my body.

Never have I fought so long and so viciously. I can imagine that this is how Reed felt when he saved me from the prison, and suddenly his killing sixty men is not that hard to believe. Clustered as we are, the guards cannot overwhelm us, coming at us only one or two at a time. And one or two guards are no match for the Power of Three. Even Kwan has lost complete control, and I hear his own roar of rage resound through the air.

Slowly, the NUSA numbers are reduced, one fallen enemy at a time.

“We should make a run for it,” Reed roars, when few enough remain that we could storm our way through.

“No!” I yell back, landing a front kick straight to a NUSA soldier's abdomen. “We're not leaving him here.” There is no way I will leave Michael's body out here in the middle of nowhere. Morgan needs to bury her brother.

Eventually, I turn to face my next opponent and there is none. Not a single NUSA soldier remains to contest us. My hands are bruised and bleeding, and I have at least three cracked ribs. My right eye is also swollen and a trickle of blood down the nape of my neck proves that my head is bleeding. I turn slowly to face the others and they are not much better off. Both Kwan and Reed are covered in blood, both their own and that of the men they defeated.

Unwillingly I drop my gaze, no longer able to avoid looking. Morgan is slumped over her brother's body and the terrible mewling sounds she is making barely sound human. Her grief is palpable and I flash back to the day long ago when I found her in a similar state in a cemetery in Missouri. On that occasion Michael had been taken by Eric's henchmen, when Eric was searching for Gifted individuals. I had reassured her then that he would be fine, but there is nothing I can say now to ease her pain. Michael is gone. The brave, loyal boy who made us all laugh, and who never doubted the Legion, is gone.

Kwan bends down, throwing his arms around Morgan's heaving shoulders and holding her tightly. I feel the wetness on my own face, but I do not wipe the tears away. I am not ashamed of mourning Michael. Reed's own eyes are glistening with unshed tears, and he turns away, walking unsteadily towards a large tombstone. I flinch as I hear his fist connect with the stone and the marble cleaves in two, a huge section of it crumbling to the ground.

“Michael!”

I had all but forgotten Simon Kelly, but suddenly he is standing over Michael's body, his face devoid of colour. He looks as though he is going to throw up. I step forward to restrain him, but Morgan is too quick for me. Launching herself to her feet, she throws herself at her father and starts pummelling his chest.

“This is your fault!” she screams, spittle flying from her lips. “You did this! You called them here! And now Michael . . .”

She convulses in sobs again, unable to finish her sentence, and then brings her arm up in a brutal blow to Simon's face. He reels backwards, his arms windmilling at his sides, and lands heavily on a gravestone.

His face crumples, and he shakes his head from side to side like a man possessed.

“I thought . . . he said you would both be safe if I . . . Oh my God, my son, my son . . .” his pathetic lament means nothing to me. Morgan is right: Simon must be held accountable for the death of his son.

“You are responsible for this,” I say coldly, stepping forward and looming over him. “You put your faith in the wrong person, and Michael has paid the price. I am taking your daughter . . .”

“No, please! She's all I have left!”

“You have nothing,” I continue, ignoring him. “You have lost your wife, your son, and Morgan – all because you were too much of a coward to do the right thing.”

“Then kill me,” he whimpers, a forlorn, pathetic mess.

“No,” I shake my head in disgust. “You don't deserve to die – that would be too easy. You will live with what you have done. Go,” I add cruelly, “go back to the States. And give Kenneth Williams a message. Tell him he failed to kill me, again. Tell him I'll see him soon.”

Simon collapses on the ground, his knees giving way, and he covers his face in his hands and we all turn our backs on him.

“Close your eyes, Morgan,” Reed croons softly, pulling her into his arms. She buries her face in his shoulder as Kwan gingerly lifts Michael's body. We take one of the NUSA cars back to where we parked the Humvee, and then we transfer the body to the back, insisting that Morgan sit in the front with Reed. I close Michael's eyes and cover him with a blanket, unable to bear the sight of the fallen hero.

Morgan has finally stopped crying, but the dazed stupor that she has fallen into is even more worrying. She is completely still, her eyes lifeless and lacklustre. She doesn't move, she just stares straight ahead. She looks like a corpse herself.

I watch as Reed reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it gently, trying to console her. Morgan doesn't react; she doesn't even acknowledge his touch.

We make it back to the Academy after lunch. We were gone only a few short hours and yet in that small space of time everything has changed. The whole world has shifted off its axis. Nothing will ever be the same. As I get out of the car I stumble, my knees giving way. I land hard on the tarmac and I do not get up.

“Bex?” my father's voice sounds muted as I gaze up at him. “Bex!” he shouts again, louder this time as he catches sight of my injuries and my battered face. I wave him towards the Humvee, and he deliberates only a second before climbing up into the vehicle. Reed helps Morgan out of the car, supporting practically her entire weight. I watch as Archer races towards us, his face morphing into a delighted smile at the sight of her. I can see the second he registers that something is terribly wrong, and he staggers forward, his expression full of concern.

“Bex.” My dad kneels down in front of me, his kind face creased with sadness. “Are you okay?”

I nod, my jaw aching as I try not to break down. I feel dizzy, and I lift my hand to my head before bringing it right under my nose. My fingers are scarlet – I'm still bleeding.

“She's hurt, and in shock . . . Michael Kelly didn't make it.” I hear my father addressing someone nearby. “Take her to her room, she should rest.”

I blink twice, and then I feel the warmth of human contact as a pair of arms slips around me and lifts me effortlessly into the air.

“I've got you,” Aidan murmurs gently and I slump against his chest, letting the rocking motion as he carries me soothe my broken soul.

Michael's funeral is held the next day. I slept for sixteen hours straight, and when I woke up I knew I needed to be strong for Morgan.

Even so, the sight of the freshly dug earth opposite the track field that Michael loved so much is almost too much to bear. Gritting my teeth, I join the large group clustered around it, and come to stand just behind Morgan. Her shoulders are weighed down with grief, and as my father steps forward to speak she seems to crumple like a paper doll, coming to rest on the edge of the soft mound of soil that will cover Michael's body. Kwan sits beside her, cradling her as she clings to his arm, her soft sobs breaking the silence.

My father clears his throat and begins again, his grey eyes shining. There is not a dry eye in sight – Michael was much loved by everyone in our community. Fiona's group watches with a solemn unity, Fiona supporting Abby, who is crying silently. I recall that she has teenage brothers not much younger than Michael. All too quickly, the eulogy is over and there is nothing left to say. Kwan and Archer gently lower Michael's blanket-wrapped body into the grave.

“Morgan,” my father prompts gently, and she lifts her tear-streaked face. “It's time,” he murmurs, and she exhales deeply, closing her eyes and taking a minute to compose herself. Then, infinitely slowly, as if she may not be able to go through with it, she takes a fistful of soil and gets to her feet. Moving towards the edge of the pit, she stares down into it, swaying on the spot as her emotions overcome her once more. I take a step forward, worried she may fall, but Archer takes her by the elbow and holds her steady. Suddenly, she opens her hands and a gust of wind sweeps most of the dirt away, but a few dark specks land on the white blanket below. Stifling a sob, Morgan turns and buries her face in Archer's shoulder as the rest of us each take up our own handful of dirt.

When it is done, Reed and Jethro step forward with shovels and fill in the hole, covering up the body of the sweetest boy I have ever known.