The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (30 page)

I
t might make her a terrible person, but right then she would have chosen to return to the lie, to the Orbitos. Romy remembered the chocolate cake; she remembered her nanopad and the cadets’ lectures. And if given the choice, in that moment, she would have given up her memory.

Her knot hardly spoke to her as they continued their blind trek through the forest after Atlas. They didn’t know how she’d react.
She
didn’t either.

There was one change.

When she rose from her swag after another sleepless night, she’d noticed a difference in the glass case around her mind. One of the tiny cracks had healed. A miniscule change. Romy could only put it down to her “floating experience” yesterday. She wondered if maybe it had healed because she chose the right path. The fog was still thick in her mind. But as the knot and two men marched ahead of her, Romy clung to this infinitesimal difference. The crack had healed. It had to mean something.

It gave her hope that whatever was broken could be fixed.

“I heard them talking last night.” She spoke to Thrym as they paused either side of a eucalyptus tree. Romy could tell by the direction of the sun they weren’t heading towards the middle of Australia anymore. They were moving north, keeping up a fast walk with barely any stops. If the sun hadn’t been there, Romy would have no idea. The bush repeated over and over, only interrupted by the occasional dip and crest. Atlas and Houston seemed to know exactly where they were going, she thought darkly.

Thrym jerked in surprise. She didn’t blame him. This might be the first time she’d spoken to him in days and her voice sounded like she’d screamed into a pillow for a week straight.

He looked ahead after a moment. “What were they saying?”

“That I was the key. The answer to their problem.”

Her friend took a long time to mull this over. Too long. “You don’t believe me,” she whispered. The realisation made her want to vomit.

He was quick to reply. “Romy. No. Don’t think that. It’s just . . . well, you’ve been a bit paranoid. And—”

A bitter taste flooded her mouth. “You don’t believe your own knot mate?” Some friend he was.

Thrym grabbed her arm and swung her around. She wrenched her arm free, her right fist curled tightly.

His brows drew together as he struggled to form the words.

“What is it?” Her voice could lash bark from a tree.

He looked her square in the eyes. “That,” he said. “That’s ‘it’.”

She gave him a flat look.

“You’re unstable, Ro. And I couldn’t care less if you’re the key, or that this could be a trap. Houston is the only person who may be able to fix you and that’s all that matters right now.”

Romy stared at him in disbelief. “
That’s
your reason for following them?” she said, her voice growing in strength. “I thought you had an actual plan, Thrym.” A sharp pain lanced through her and Romy gathered from Thrym’s startled expression that its cruel passage had flashed on her face.

“I only agreed because I thought you had a plan,” she scoffed before turning away.

Slowly, with grating fractures, the tiny crack in the glass she’d been so relieved to find gone this morning reappeared.

* * *

T
hrym spread word to the others. Her knot now watched Romy like the Critamal and Orbitos watched each other—with both eyes.

The shift was blatant. But her knot hadn’t told Atlas or Houston what had transpired between her and Thrym. Nevertheless, the pair could sense the tension and wariness the others now treated her with.

Her knot thought she was dangerous.

Romy wanted to throw her head back and scream that they were all idiots. She was still here. In control for the moment. Waiting for the fragile something to shatter and the bubbling insanity underneath to splinter forth and consume her.

Or did they think she’d run?

They should be worried about her staying. Who knew what would happen once Romy became the woman on the other side of the wall—the feral version of herself.

Sleep was impossible. She lay down anyway, just so Phobos, the one charged with first Ro-watch for the night, would be able to carry out Romy-duty in relative comfort.

But she lay awake and stared into the dark.

Soon only the creaking of crickets and the occasional scramble of fighting animals in the distance could be heard. There was no ocean, no breeze. Just dead stillness.

Until a tiny rustling alerted her to Atlas creeping from his swag. She stared, unblinking, as he took a tentative step just inside the tree line. He had one hand to his ear. When he turned she saw the expression on his face.

It was as though a hand had reached inside her and gripped her stomach in a tight fist.

Fear
. His face was slack with it. Eyes wild, pacing now jerky and uncontrolled.

Romy slid soundlessly from her bedding, grabbing the knife next to her. Phobos didn’t move—he always was a useless sentry.

She glided up behind Atlas and watched him a little longer. He had a hand to his ear. The transmitter, she realised. He still had it with him. What was he doing with it?

Romy adjusted her grip on the knife by her side. The hilt was slippery in her sweating hand.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

Atlas whirled towards her, thunderous scowl in place. But then two things happened.

The man in front of her held a finger to his lips, and shut his eyes while listening to the transmission device in his ear.

Then he looked up at her in horror, face half-cloaked in shadow.

“They’re coming.”

S
he stuffed her bedding into her pack after jostling the others awake. She shoved the knife in after it. What had she intended to do with it anyway? She couldn’t stomach killing someone she hated—how could Romy even consider hurting someone she used to care about?

The camp was in disarray.

Houston injected Deimos with the unknown substance. Romy wondered how much he had. She wouldn’t mind some to keep her awake another couple of nights.

“We’ll be moving fast. Keep up, or die,” Atlas said.

He wasn’t exaggerating about the pace. It was closer to a run than a walk. Her pack bounced up and down in a heavy beat, dragging at her shoulders.

Even with the injection, a few hours later, Deimos began to flag.

If Romy had never gone to Atlas’s office that night, then Deimos wouldn’t be pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. A long, thin crack appeared in the glass of her mind. She stumbled over a tree root in the physical world, scrambling to regain her feet.

“Leave the bags,” Atlas ordered.

Romy’s mouth dried. They needed their supplies. The others had shirked theirs and Atlas shoved them into the brush, out of sight.

Her hands hovered above the straps.

“We don’t have time for this.” Atlas pushed the straps from her shoulders.

“Wait!” she cried, quickly retrieving something. He threw the bag into the bush, eyeing the map clutched in her hand.

Next, he reached for her AK-103. She turned that side of her body away and scowled at him.

He conceded and reached for her hand before stopping himself. “I’ll come back for the packs once it’s safe.”

She swallowed her disbelief, flashing a placated smile.

His eyes narrowed as he began jogging, pulling her along. “I want you to stay up front with me.”

Before, they’d jogged. Now they ran. The sun rose, the looming trunks turning a haunting grey in the dim light of dawn. A tension filled the air and Romy couldn’t be sure if it was generated from their group of seven, or because some sixth sense told her hunters were close.

They didn’t stop.

A glance over her shoulder told Romy that the others were taking turns helping Deimos. But their pace was dropping further and further to accommodate his gasping weakness. Romy could almost feel Atlas’s frustration. Could interpret from it that if their speed didn’t pick up they would have problems.

Elara yelled from the back as Deimos tumbled forwards and crashed to the ground.

The rest of the knot rushed forwards, but Romy stayed where she was, watching Atlas’s face. Furrows of worry riveted his brow.

Atlas spoke softly. “He has to be left behind.”

Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that. “No.”

He looked up, surprised to see her there.

“We have to.” He gestured to his ear. “We’re two hours away from the bunker. They can’t find us there. But we have to get there first.” Atlas grabbed her shoulders and turned her to the right.

“That hill,” he said. “We need to get over that hill.”

Romy noticed he didn’t specify the direction. Even now he worried more about the audio chip in Romy’s brain than giving her tangible details.

Obviously the memory card still worked if the space soldiers were dead. Which they were going to be, because a meteor shower couldn’t stop her from bringing Deimos with them.

“No,” she repeated.

“Don’t be a fool.” He shook her. “We can save the rest of them. Deimos will be okay. Houston will stabilise him. We cover him. I’ll come back for him once you’re safe.”

A protectiveness she hadn’t felt in a week surged to the fore. “No! Not happening.”

Atlas ran both hands through his black hair and surveyed her, gripping what he could of the short locks.

He brushed past her and barked at Houston to stand back. Picking up one of Deimos’s limp arms, Atlas hauled Deimos—not small by any means—across his shoulders.

He moved back to the front of the group as Romy tried to withhold her surprise.

They resumed their pace. It was quicker than before, though Atlas carried the unconscious Deimos. Romy couldn’t help casting frequent darting looks at the towering man beside her. He continued to alter her perception of him every time she thought she might finally understand him.

He was carrying Deimos on his back.

But you’ve been wrong once before
, a voice reminded her. Romy brushed it aside.

Did he do it for selfish reasons, because Romy was “the key”—whatever that meant—or because he cared?

The one good thing about their gruelling pace? Romy felt stronger than she had in days. Like the adrenaline surge had placed a temporary welding over the worst of the cracked glass, holding her strong until her knot was safe. Even the fog was gone.

Romy swung the rifle higher on her shoulder and looked behind to check everyone was there. Elara had her head bowed, clearly near her limit. Romy’s dedication to her exercise routines on the orbito had paid off, and Elara’s laziness hadn’t.

Atlas gave her a glance as she started dropping back. A light frown shone under the glisten of sweat.

“Elara needs help,” Romy explained.

He nodded, grunting as he hoisted Deimos into a better position.

Romy let Phobos, Houston, and Thrym pass by to jog beside Elara.

“You can say it,” the pixie-haired girl puffed.

“You should’ve done more cardio,” Romy said immediately.

Elara let out a breathless laugh. “You . . . suck.”

Romy pointed upwards. “Atlas said it’s just over that hill.”

Elara looked up. And up. And groaned with what breath she could spare. “Shoot. Okay. But there better be some kind of massage lined up when we arrive.”

A tight smile played on Romy’s lips as she jogged just behind the girl, gun bouncing at her side. When the going got tough, Elara became a comedian.

The ground beneath her feet began to slope upwards, and the burning in her calf muscles grew with each step. It seemed like the hill was too much for even Atlas to maintain a jog. He slowed to a walk, ignoring Thrym, who offered to take Dei.

“Do you think Dei is faking it so he doesn’t have to run?” Phobos called back.

Elara chuckled, holding her side.

Romy moved up to ask Atlas how much longer.

The man stopped at her query, breathing hard. He looked up the hill. They were about halfway there. As he looked back the way they had come, his features contorted.

Romy spun to see what had startled him.

At first she couldn’t see anything. But there. . . . Romy’s eyes widened. A glint flashed not far from the base of the hill.

Atlas cursed under his breath and turned away without answering.

They’d found Knot 27. Their pursuers were here.

“How did they find us?” Thrym asked Atlas.

Romy fell back again to walk beside Elara. She strained to hear the reply.

“The Mandate has many ways of finding those they hunt. And we have few ways to hide from their hunters,” Houston said quietly.

They reached the top of the hill in the next half hour. Atlas sat on a rock and studied them, panting.

“We need to move downhill like the Critamal are up our arse,” he said.

He didn’t have to expand on his statement. The Mandate’s forces had to be hot on their trail.

That meant . . . when their group reached the bottom of the other side . . . the enemy soldiers would be at the top. With their guns. It would be like picking up space debris. Her group would be powerless, unable to stop the jaws from closing around and crushing them.

“Graphic,” grunted Phobos.

Atlas nodded, standing once more. Romy couldn’t believe he was still going. She remembered reading about Trojans once. Atlas was like one of those mythical beings.

“Rosemary,” he called back. “I want you up beside me.”

He hoisted Deimos into a better position. “You don’t stop running for anything,” he told her. “Now, go!”