Three (Article 5) (26 page)

“What did he do?”

“Hard to say,” said Chase. “Riling people up is what it sounds like.”

I remembered Polo saying that he knew Jesse from a demonstration outside the draft board. If that was truth, he’d been in the game a long time.

Inside, Max was saying something I couldn’t make out.

“We have the same goal, sir.” At Jesse’s voice, Chase and I both turned our gazes to the door, as if it might spontaneously open again.

“Yes, but we’re going about it in vastly different ways,” said the president. “I won’t be boosted back into office by an organization that condones assassination attempts and guerrilla warfare. The people have that now. They deserve better.”

Chase and I glanced at each other. DeWitt hadn’t told us that Three was supporting the president; he must have conveyed this message to Jesse privately.

“This plan with the Statutes,” said Jesse. “It’s different from what’s been done in the past.”

“I’m listening.”

I felt my heart rate kick up a notch. The former president of the United States was about to hear a plan I’d come up with. I didn’t know if I wanted to scream in excitement or throw up.

Inside, the conversation had gone quiet. Either the president was taking a long time to read and think about the plan, or they’d moved out of earshot.

I pushed my hands in my pockets, disappointed not to hear his reaction.

“Have you heard about Three supporting this president?” I asked. I hadn’t much thought of what would happen if the MM was knocked out of power.

Chase shook his head. “Sounds like he’s not a big fan.”

I rubbed the three marks on my chest. “I don’t know that he’s got a lot of choice if he wants back in office. I don’t see anyone else opposing the MM.”

“We have our methods,” said Corporal Blackstone, emerging from around the corner of the deck. He was still wearing fatigues, though his skin had been wiped clean of camouflage paint. His face looked stretched, with large eyes, thick brows, and a flat nose.

Chase cleared his throat. “While you were gone, Corporal Blackstone was telling me how Restart paid off the insurgents,” said Chase.

“Didn’t just pay them off,” said Blackstone, his heavy jaw flexing with each word. “Formed them. Recruited them. And then paid off their families. We have proof—witnesses. Willing to share what they know.” He glanced down to the campfires and I wondered if some of these individuals were here now. “Chancellor Reinhardt was behind the attacks. He set ’em up so Scarboro could pick up the pieces.”

I’d heard talk of this before from Marco and Polo, but that didn’t make the conspiracy any less appalling. I cringed, thinking of Reinhardt’s creepy voice coming through the radio as he talked about the executions of the terrorists. The man was clearly capable of damage and unafraid of any consequences.

“When the time comes, we’ll be ready,” said Corporal Blackstone. He tapped his breast pocket, where for the first time I noticed a folded piece of paper emerging from it. The Moral Statutes—probably the ones we’d hijacked.

I swallowed.

“The president will be reinstated. The Bureau will be charged for their crimes. We’ll have freedom once again.” It occurred to me Blackstone was not referring to Scarboro. “In the meantime,” he finished, “your truck will be topped off and good to go by morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Chase, shaking his hand.

“Tomorrow?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we try to get out tonight?”

Chase motioned toward the food, a look of longing in his eyes. He had skipped eating in order to check on the truck and had yet to clean up. “They have rules about coming and going,” he said. “They have rules about who you talk to and what you say and how to assure you aren’t followed back. They have
rules
.”

“Ah,” I said. “Understandable, considering their guest list.”

He snorted.

I wondered how Sean was faring—if he’d found Tucker yet. If he’d wrung Jack’s neck yet; the last time I remembered them doing anything together, Sean was punching him in the face outside the swamp before we’d been ambushed by the survivors. He was going to freak out when I told him we had stayed the night in the Smoky Mountains, guests of the veterans of the dispersed military branches and the old president himself. It seemed too unreal to be true.

As Chase went to get a bowl of stew and canned mixed vegetables, I was distracted by something I hadn’t heard in years. Music. Not the preapproved church music piped in through the speakers at Sunday services, but not quite like the kind my mother used to play on the stereo when I was little, either. This was fresher, brighter. Alive. It began with the soft, high wail of a violin, then came the thump of a drum, followed by a brassy horn I couldn’t pinpoint, blending together as if they’d come from a singular source. It pulled at something inside of me, but at the same time raised the hairs on my skin, because beautiful things were always dangerous.

The musicians had congregated behind the largest of the campfires, and on the ground before them sat several children, entranced. As I watched, a few other people joined them, and soon they’d clasped hands and formed a ring around two men. For an instant, I thought they were fighting, until I saw one leap to the side and burst into an intricate pattern of kicks and stomps then challenge the other to follow. The other took the center of the circle, cheered on by those around him, and doubled the speed of the dance. Soon I found myself edging closer, gravitating toward the show.

They laughed as if our posts had not fallen. As if our people—good people—weren’t missing or stranded. As if there was no reason to be afraid. And I watched because I wanted to believe them.

A breath of air came from the direction of the trees, blowing the damp hair away from my face. It brought with it a sense of calm, like when I’d hear my mother singing in the kitchen, or when she’d wait on the porch for me when I walked home from school.

Chase came beside me, standing quietly. We both watched the musicians, who’d slowed their song to a haunting melody. A woman began to sing, her voice lifting above the conversations and clatter of dishes. A song without words.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, rubbing the goose bumps that had streaked down my arms. For some reason the song reminded me again of Truck, killed by Reinhardt. And Sean, and Billy, and finally, my mother. “Is it strange to be having a party when people are out there dying?”

Chase moved the food around on his plate, not yet having taken a bite.

“I don’t know,” he said. “After the War at some of the camps around the city people would play music like this. They had weddings, too. Everyone was invited, even if you didn’t know the person. Sometimes the people that got married didn’t even know each other.”

He glanced below my chin, to the necklace that carried his mother’s ring. My someday promise.

“Why do it then?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised what you’ll do when you think there’s no tomorrow,” said Chase. “Everything feels more intense. Everything you ever wanted to do, you’ve got to do it right now. You might not have another chance.”

I looked out over the dancers, the children, delighted by the festivities. Was that what this was? A last attempt to enjoy life before the end? I closed my eyes, part of me wishing I could join them. I didn’t know the steps, but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe all that mattered was wanting to.

Two girls led Kaylee into the circle. Her hair was braided back in pigtails, making her look younger than she had when she’d talked to me about her father in Greeneville. The two girls spun in a circle, and then she followed, until they fell into a heap of limbs and laughter.

Chase smiled, the kind of smile that made my heart leap just to see it. I was suddenly warm and light, and I reached out to touch his cheek, my fingers skimming down to his chin. There was nowhere I’d rather be than with him, right now.

“I’ve never been to a dance,” I confessed. “Mom and I used to in the house sometimes. And Beth—we played around when I was little.”

He tilted his head toward the music. “Are you asking me to dance?”

“No,” I said quickly, pinning my hands at my side. “I don’t know how.”

But yes. I wanted to dance just as much as I was afraid of looking foolish.

Before he could say anything more about it I walked to another fire and found us a place on the ground where he could eat. We made small talk with the people around the circle, and I wasn’t surprised to learn that a great many more than I’d anticipated had once served our country.

It was in one of these conversations that I learned of another sniper shooting. The female soldier with the short hair was the one to break the news.

“They haven’t caught the sniper from what I’ve heard,” she said, leaning back against a felled trunk and tossing twigs into the fire. The flames seemed to brighten in contrast with the growing darkness, and the scent of smoke was sharp in my nose and eyes.

“What happened to the one they caught in Greeneville?” I asked, careful not to reveal too much about Cara.

“I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is there was another shooting, same style, three days back. Near the Red Zone border. One of the Carolinas, I think.”

I wondered if someone had taken up Cara’s cause. It could have been anyone. A copycat, or a disgruntled civilian. Or it could have been someone working for Three. Teams had gone in and out of Endurance while we were there—I wondered if they’d had anything to do with it.

It occurred to me that this may have contributed to Reinhardt’s public announcement and Truck’s execution.

“Do you know anything about Mexico?” I asked.

“Big country below the border,” she said. “Used to have great food. Spicy, though.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” I said.

She tilted her head. “I know most of the big shots took the boat there when Reinhardt started hunting folks down.”

“So there is a boat.”

She snorted. “Course there’s a boat. What are you supposed to do, swim from Tampa?”

“I guess not,” I said, trying to picture the state of Florida on the old president’s map—an evacuated zone since its fall in the War.

She grinned at me then. “Keeping your options open, huh?”

I didn’t answer, but she nodded anyway.

“Smart,” she said. “I would too if my name was all over those Statutes.”

Word had spread quickly. I shivered, but the fear was too deep to shake off. It was like before, in Knoxville, when people recognized me as the sniper, but worse because now I was asking them to fight, even risk dying, to bring down the MM.

I realized that Jesse had sat down on a log across the fire, and had drawn the attention of most of the others, Chase included. He was midway through a story when I tuned in, and as he spoke I couldn’t help but become entranced, all questions of what had occurred in the library drifting away.

“When the old man saw that his grandson had stolen his mother’s basket he told him of the two wolves battling inside of him,” said Jesse, his voice deeper somehow. Wiser. “The first wolf feeds on anger and fear. Weakness and lies. He is thin with sickness and doubt, but fights with sharp teeth and long claws. The other is clean and good. He is bravery and kindness and truth, and his coat is always stained with the blood of the wounds given by his brother.

“This frightened the boy, who asked his grandfather which wolf would eventually destroy the other.”

Jesse lifted his chin and looked directly at Chase. “Which wolf wins, nephew?”

All eyes turned to face us.

Chase cleared his throat.

“The one you feed,” he said.

A reflective quiet fell over the circle, the crackling and pop of wood Jesse’s only applause. Since seeing him with the president, my opinion of him had grown softer. I hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning his nephew, but I could see now why Chase had.

I rose and offered Chase my hand.

“Come dance with me,” I said.

With a laugh he reached for me, and I had to lean all my weight back in order to pull him up.

“No one’s dancing anymore,” he said, a small dimple forming on one cheek. It was true; the musicians were facing each other now, speaking a language I didn’t know.

“Come dance with me,” I said again. I’d come to understand something while Jesse was talking. There was more to me than what I’d become, a part only Chase could access. And if I didn’t feed it, it would die.

With both of my hands surrounding his, I led him over to the space before the musicians. People cheered for us but I barely heard them. The old president smiled my way but I wasn’t embarrassed. Chase’s fingers spread around my waist and dragged my hips close, and his back rounded beneath my grasp. He took the lead, rocking gently from side to side, leading me, guiding me. Reminding me.

“There you are,” he whispered in my ear. “I found you.”

We danced until the last musician packed up his instrument and disappeared into the woods. And then I led Chase up past the falls, to the place where he could finally take a bath.

CHAPTER

17

THE
next morning we left before dawn in a truck with a newly patched tire. The previous night we’d revised our trip, accounting for this unexpected stop, and mapped out the rest of our journey based on the locations of the posts DeWitt had given us. Our next stop was in central Tennessee. The refugees stayed behind with the others, and as we descended from the mountains, I watched the compound blend with the low-hanging clouds and couldn’t help but think there was a storm coming.

Outside Tennessee I returned to the back of the truck, surrounded by my Statutes. We’d left some behind at the president’s camp for the soldiers to spread around the nearby towns, but the bulk would be distributed by the MM. I wondered how many had already been stuck to houses, schools, and shops around the Midwest.

The truck was stopped once at a road block; I heard the voices of the soldiers outside questioning our purpose. Not more than five minutes passed before we moved on, but I don’t think I truly breathed until we were back to driving at a steady pace.

DeWitt had given us the location of a contact in Chattanooga, and we parked on the second floor of an old aquarium parking garage to wait.