The Thrust (7 page)

Clarissa could feel the anger in his voice, his words. “Where are you getting all this from? How do you know?”

“The plans have been in place for a long time, even before the Pulse,” he said, shaking his head. “They call it Agenda Twenty-One.”

Trent crumpled the paper in his fist and dropped it back on the ground.

Grand Central Terminal, a week later

EVAN

Evan took the
vitamin from Annie gratefully, and they each swallowed down one of the horse-sized pills. He was already feeling physically stronger and mentally clearer with the proper vitamins and minerals. And Annie was in less pain. Her leg was slowly on the mend, thanks to the calcium and Vitamin D in the pills.

“You need to get off the Tracks, Evan,” Annie said. “It’s not safe for you here.”

“It’s not safe for you, either.” But Evan knew what she meant.

Ever since that night a week ago, when Colonel Lanche had left him alone with Scar, his life had been a living hell.

Because Scar was suddenly done talking, done threatening. He’d moved on to doing.

He didn’t think Scar was gay, just a power-control freak. Dominating Evan seemed to scratch an itch that dominating the girls on the Tracks didn’t.

A flash of what had happened that night ran through his head, but Evan pushed it out of his mind forcefully. His mouth filled with saliva and he wanted to spit, the same way he’d spat Scar’s come onto his boots in disgust that night.

Don’t think about it.

But Scar kept showing up, kept reminding him. Evan couldn’t sleep at night, knowing he might be coming for him.

“You need to make them see you as a man,” Annie said. “As a soldier. So they won’t . . . mess with you.”

“What am I supposed to do, go up to Lanche and ask for a uniform and a gun?”

“Maybe. Then you’d be on the inside, you know? You’d know who was good. Who could be turned against him.”

“I don’t think I could even pretend to serve that monster.” He sighed. “Besides, who will look after you?”

“Josephine will,” Annie said, nodding her head to the subway car across the Tracks. “I’m getting better, too. I bet I’ll be able to put weight on it again in a few weeks.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Evan warned. “You don’t want to re-break your leg.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Lanche is smart. He’ll never believe me. He knows when I’m lying.”

“So tell him the truth. It’s been long enough—I know Barker, Clarissa, and Jenna are far enough away now to be safe from him. They’ve probably gotten more people, more supplies, more things than we even know. So whatever you know is old news.”

Was it true? Could the information he’d been holding so close to his vest for so long be useless now to harm his friends?

“He’ll want to know why I changed my mind.”

“Well . . .” Annie blushed and looked away. “Maybe it’s because you’re sick of getting visits from Scar. That would be enough to change anyone’s mind.” She shuddered. “How are you . . . how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Evan lied quickly. “It’s only happened three times. I can’t even remember really, because I pretend . . .”

I pretend it’s not happening.

“I know,” she whispered. “Tell Lanche that if Scar stays away from you, you’ll tell him everything. Then tell him. I think it’s okay now. I really do. Barker wouldn’t want you to go through all this. None of our friends would.”

Evan nodded and leaned back on the subway seat. Annie reached up and ran her delicate hand through his hair, soothing him.

“You’re stronger than you know,” she said.

If he got off the Tracks, stopped being Scar’s bitch . . . Fuck. If he got in with the soldiers, made Lanche happy—maybe he really could be more of a help to their cause from inside the belly of the beast.

“When should I go talk to him?” he asked.

A familiar, deep voice cleared his throat, and Evan opened his eyes with a jolt.

Scar.

Speak of the devil and he appears.

“Aww, how cute,” Scar laughed. “Am I interrupting something? Did you have first dibs, Annie?”

Annie gave Evan a look that he could only interpret as a mixture of fear and pity. Fuck, he didn’t want to be pitied by this beautiful woman. He didn’t want her to look at him, knowing he was about to get molested by this fuckhead.

“Scar, wait—” Evan said, but Scar stepped inside the subway car and pulled Evan to the back corner by his ear.

Annie covered her eyes, which Evan was grateful for. He didn’t want her to see, much less know. The fact that she knew what was happening to him was almost as bad, almost as humiliating.

The one woman who he wanted to see him as a man—and instead she was witness to this.

Kill me and get it over with.

No. He had to stop thinking like that. He’d survived this long, he could make it another night.

Just live through this minute. Through this second.

“Turn the fuck around, bitch,” Scar said to her.

She obeyed, carefully repositioning her leg as she did. Evan was glad she didn’t try to get Scar to stop, like last time. It only made him angrier, gave him something to prove.

Because Scar liked to prove that he had complete power over them, no matter what they said.

“Miss me, pretty boy?” Scar asked.

Evan’s throat went dry. He looked away, hoping to avoid doing or saying anything that would make the situation worse.

Scar shoved Evan down onto the floor, and his knee hit one of the metal poles in the middle of the subway car hard.

“I asked you a question. Did. You. Miss. Me.”

Scar laughed and grabbed Evan’s hair, holding his head up so he was forced to look up at him. Scar’s hard cock strained against his camo pants, the power trip clearly turning him on.

“Let’s find out.” Scar reached down, cupping one large, meaty hand over Evan’s crotch.

“Please don’t,” Evan whispered, then bit his tongue. Fuck. He shouldn’t have said anything—it just spurred him on.

“Why aren’t you hard? Little young to have a limp dick, aren’t you, kid?” Scar teased. “I think you need to see what a
man
’s dick looks like.”

Evan forced himself to breathe, to calm his racing pulse. “Scar. Let’s go talk to Colonel Lanche. I will tell him everything he wants to know.”

Scar paused. “Really.”

“Only if we go right now.”

The tension in the car was palpable. Evan just hoped that Scar would remember the higher purpose he had in terrorizing him, and forget about his cock for a moment.

Evan thought of threatening Scar, of promising to bite his thing off if it came anywhere near Evan’s mouth again.. But he instinctively knew that would just inspire Scar to prove that he couldn’t be threatened.

And with Annie sitting there in the corner, her back to them, Evan knew he couldn’t do shit about anything.

He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

But that was going to change, right now. It was time for him to turn the tables on these assholes.

“Bring me to the Colonel, Scar. Before I change my mind.”

Scar frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked down at Evan, kneeling on the floor.

“All right. Let’s go.” Scar pulled him up roughly and leaned in, his breath hot in Evan’s ear. “But if you’re fucking with me, then trust me when I say I will royally fuck with you. And you won’t get away with just a half-assed blow job when I come to get you back.”

Evan nodded, the threat of being raped still raw and painful, the same way it had been that first night he was taken to Grand Central.. “I’m ready to tell you everything,” he said. “I just want my life back.”

Letliv, Connecticut

TRENT

Trent walked with
Barker up and down the row of men and women standing in the field, adjusting their empty rifles and stances as needed.

“We’ve got more guns,” his neighbor Rob said, showing him the stash he was working on. Cleaning, repairing, that sort of thing. Having been in a wheelchair his whole life, Rob wasn’t about to let that keep him from helping out any way he could.

“Good,” Trent said. “Hopefully we’ll need them.”

Their numbers were growing. A few people had even found them from his radio transmission—travelers who were looking for a home.

So far, the only government interference had been the pamphlets dropped by the UN. But they weren’t going to let that paper go to waste . . . or the idea.

Since the backs of the papers were blank, the plan was to recycle the paper and use it to spread their own message. Their own psyop—on the people at Grand Central.

If they could get the word spread that there was another way, then hopefully when they showed up, the citizens wouldn’t be afraid. They’d go with them, and maybe the soldiers would stand down.

Maybe.

Or maybe they’d get into a bloody battle. There was no telling which way the wind would blow.

“Remember,” Barker yelled, shouting so that everyone in the field could hear him. “Don’t shoot unless you know who you’re shooting at. We don’t want anyone to accidentally shoot one of our own.”

Trent smiled. Barker, Jenna, and Clarissa had quickly become part of Letliv. The people were as fired up about liberating the people at the FEMA camp as they were. Jenna kept talking about how she wanted to be the one to kill Colonel Lanche, which worried Trent a bit.

They weren’t on a revenge mission. They were on a mission to free people. Like Annie, and their friend Evan.

But apparently Jenna
was
on a revenge mission. Trent couldn’t blame her, after some of the stories Clarissa had told him. Still, vengeance made for a sloppy fight. It made for anger, and mistakes.

They couldn’t afford any mistakes.

Hell, they couldn’t even afford to waste ammo in target practice.

“Ready,” Trent yelled, and everyone raised their rifles, pointing them at the targets—shirts stuffed with old hay.

“Aim. Fire!” Instead of a burst of gunfire, however, all they heard was the quiet clicking of dozens of triggers and firing pins, without bullets.

No wasting bullets.

“I need to shoot this thing for real,” one of the women said. “Before we actually go there. I can’t have my first time shooting this thing be in battle.”

“Agreed,” Barker said. “Before the time comes, we’ll fire live ammo. You’ll want to experience the recoil so it doesn’t surprise you.”

Clarissa came up behind Trent and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” she said.

“How’s it going?” Trent wasn’t sure how to behave around her in town, around other people. Putting his arm around her or kissing her felt like giving away a secret or something.

People were already talking, since she was staying at his house. It wasn’t bad talk. Everyone knew how hard he’d taken it when his wife died. And they seemed to like Clarissa.

But small towns were full of gossip, after all.

Fortunately everyone held the firm belief that what went on between consenting adults was their own business. The few people in town who were openly gay were accepted without hesitation. So giving away the truth about . . . whatever he had going with Clarissa . . . wasn’t really the reason he was unsure if he should be kissing her in public.

Things were weird between them. He was so attracted to her. Liked everything about her. But as wonderful as it was to come home to her, she wasn’t Karen. She wasn’t his wife. No one would ever take Karen’s place.

Not that Clarissa was acting like she wanted to. No—Clarissa was alternately hot and cold. Sometimes she’d sit with him for hours, talking. And sometimes they wouldn’t get much talking done at all . . .

But other times—like last night—she’d seem to shut down. To reject his advances, to let her fish sit uneaten on her plate while she stared at the fire, as if she were remembering things she didn’t want to remember.

And he knew she was worried about Annie, and Evan, especially. She’d told Trent that she felt like it was her fault that he’d been kidnapped by Colonel Lanche, since she’d been the one to insist Evan join them.

So Trent didn’t know what to do. How to act, how to behave around her. He was scared to death of making her feel uncomfortable in his home. Although God knew she made him wild with desire.

In the field, Clarissa smiled at him and handed him one of the UN psyop pamphlets. Her fingers were stained with ink she’d made herself using blueberries, a bit of vinegar, and a pinch of salt. On the back of the paper she’d carefully written out a message to the people at Grand Central.

You are being starved and abused under Colonel Lanche’s leadership.

There is another way. Fight for freedom and liberty.

You will be safe and will be able to feed and shelter yourselves.

Live and Letliv.

“What do you think?” she asked. “It’s short, but I figured we should get to the point. Did I cover the main things the right way, you think?”

“It’s really good,” Trent said, looking at it. “You should show it to Barker and Jenna. See if they would have believed it, if they’d gotten it while they were still at Grand Central.”

“I like doing this,” she said. “If we could find a way to make our own paper, our own printing press—”

“There’s no time for that,” he interrupted.

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “I know. I meant . . . after. We could make a newspaper for Letliv, you know, something more than just a bulletin board on Main Street.”

Trent smiled, glad to see her excited about something. “It’s definitely something to think about for the future. But right now . . .”

We need to save Annie.

Clarissa nodded and walked off to find Jenna, since Barker was still training the . . . army. If one could call a few dozen fishermen an army.

Barker came up to Trent about a half hour later.

“Do you think we should ask them not to shoot us?” Barker asked. “On the pamphlet.”