Taken (29 page)

“I remember you threw up on my boots.”

“No, not that.” She shakes her head slowly. “Before that. Do you remember what I asked you?”

I nod. I’ve never forgotten.

“If I asked you that again, right now, would you turn me down?”

“No,” I tell her honestly. I’ve been fighting anything I felt toward her because of Emma—Emma, who didn’t fight a thing herself.

Bree tries to sit again, and grimaces. She won’t give up, though; she’s far too stubborn. She locks her good arm behind my neck and pulls until she’s upright in my lap. Her face is dangerously close to mine. I’m positive Emma is staring at us, watching my every move through the fire, but I am bitter and hurt and angry. A part of me wants her to hurt, too.

Bree leans in a little, her arms still behind my neck. “Kiss me?” she asks.

And I do.

As Bree’s lips meet mine, as her arms latch more tightly behind my neck, something washes over me. Guilt, maybe? Confusion? I try to stifle it, because even with it stirring in my gut, Bree tastes so good. I let it go from one kiss to many. I kiss her several times over, then her nose, her neck.

Bree is warm. She is soft. She clings to me as though her life depends on it. I am hungry for her, but I am also hungry for revenge. And the more of it I get, the worse I feel, because I can’t pull away. I am crashing, tumbling, gathering speed and unable to stop. I don’t know how far it would have gone, the two of us—even with Emma and Bo sitting on the other side of the camp—if the celebration hadn’t started.

There is one at first, a whiz of noise followed by a burst of blue light overhead. The second is red, a third yellow.

“Fireworks,” Bo says.

The battle in Taem is over. We watch the show in silence. It is beautiful, an explosion of colors against a blanket of black. And then a projection lights up the sky. It is an image, as dark and dismal as any.

Harvey, dead.

He is tied to the wooden pole in the public square. They’ve stripped him naked and painted a red triangle atop his chest. His head hangs toward it, as though he were trying to kiss its peak.

The fireworks continue in the distance, covering Harvey’s projection until he fades out completely. In the midst of Harvey’s sacrifice, my revenge on Emma suddenly feels juvenile and foolish, completely unwarranted. I am focused on all the wrong things. Getting even with Emma doesn’t matter. Not in the slightest. It’s not even making me feel any better.

What matters is that while we have succeeded in one mission, we are far from finished. If Frank is not overthrown, Harvey’s death will be for nothing. The battle with Frank and his Forgeries—
limitless
Forgeries, given what I’ve learned in Taem—trumps all. Only then will Harvey’s death have been worth it. Only then will Claysoot and the other test groups be free. And only then will the people of this odd country be able to decide their own fate, their own rules.

Later, when the fire dies out and Bo and Emma have fallen asleep, Bree curls up at my side. She kisses me long and hard, so confidently that I know she means it, that she wants to be with me, and I am overwhelmed with another wave of guilt. She drifts to sleep as I run my hand along her back.

Halfway through the night Bo wakes and takes over watch, but I still can’t sleep. The best I do is nod in and out of consciousness, my arms always hugging Bree, but my eyes lingering on Emma, who shivers while she dreams.

Morning breaks and no one has tracked us. Bo claims it’s because they got what they really wanted. “Harvey’s dead, and that, at the moment, is enough. But they’ll come eventually, especially once they discover we’ve broken in and stolen from their medical center.”

As the sun rises between the tightly packed trees, Bree radios Ryder and shares the news. We walk in silence the first day. I look over my shoulder occasionally and find Emma in conversation with Bo. Her lips are pursed and her eyes, sleepy. Bo seems to do most of the talking. He taps on his skull with twitching fingers and tries to coax conversation from her. Emma just gazes at the medic bag in her arms.

That night, after catching rabbit and cooking the meat over a small fire, Bo approaches me. “You should really talk to her,” he says. “She’s sorry. And confused.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” But as soon as the words leave my mouth I know it’s not that I don’t want to talk to her but that I’m afraid to. I’m terrified because I do feel something for Bree, and what I did with her makes me no different from Emma, who acted on her feelings for Craw. I want to apologize and tell Emma the birds still exist, and, yes, some people really do live that way, but I don’t know how to put it into words.

It doesn’t make sense, this mess of emotions. I always follow my gut, find my path with such little deliberation. But this, with Emma, is crippling. How is it possible that I can feel so much and still not know what to do?

Just past noon a few days later, Mount Martyr emerges from between a dense throng of trees. We climb to the base of the Crevice, and find Elijah waiting with his back against the stony facade. He is drinking from a standard water canteen, but when he congratulates us on a job well done, hugging us each in turn, he smells like alcohol.

“I still can’t believe you guys pulled it off,” he says, beaming. “We’ve been celebrating since Bree called with the news.”

He jiggles the canteen at us in offering and when no one takes it, he continues. “We owe Harvey so much.” At that, we stand in silence for a moment; there are no words that could possibly do Harvey justice. Elijah lowers his drink, eyes the bloodied state of Bree’s uniform, and adds, “We should get moving, I suppose. There’s still a vaccine to administer.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

EVERYONE IS WAITING FOR US
in the Technology Center. Clipper and a few doctors look anxious to get to work; but, true to Elijah’s words, most people are in merry, boisterous spirits. Ryder and the other captains are laughing as we enter, a half dozen empty mugs scattered across the table before them. Clipper takes the canvas bag from me and he’s barely stepped aside before my father is pulling me into his arms and hugging me so tightly I’m afraid my ribs might crack.

“That is the last time I let Ryder decide what missions you’re fit for,” he says, his breath hot with ale. “It was too risky.”

“I heard that,” Ryder says.

“It’s the truth and I won’t lie about it. And this is
not
the alcohol talking.”

Ryder laughs. “I never suspected it was. Regardless, the boy did well—you should be proud.”

“I am.” He turns, rests a hand on my shoulder, and puts on a stern fatherlike face before repeating it to me. “I am very proud.”

He gives me this smile that is full of both relief and joy, and I know that while love was rarely spoken of in Claysoot, it certainly existed. In glances like this. In small moments exchanged. Raid pours a new round of drinks, and my father moves to join the captains.

“Hey, Pa?” He starts at the fatherly endearment. “It’s really good to see you again.”

His smile is too wide, like it might split the corners of his mouth. I’m wondering if this is the result of his drinking or my words, when he nods and says, “Likewise.”

And then he’s back with the others, laughing, cheering, shouting. They raise their mugs and bring them together in a clatter of glass. I frown. I can admit this moment truly is a cause for celebration, but even still it feels wrong. Like we are callous to be happy in the wake of Harvey’s death.

Bree points at Fallyn—who has discovered she is capable of smiling—and asks, “Should they really be drinking when they’re about to get a vaccination?”

“Probably not,” Emma says.

“Definitely not.” Clipper glances at Emma’s medical bag and adds, “But I’ll still put in a good word for you at the hospital. Won’t tell them you were
probably
okay with treating intoxicated patients.”

Bree is so busy looking smug at this comment that she fails to notice Clipper’s wink.

“You ready?” he asks me.

The syringe he holds looks terrifying, but I nod anyway. He pulls me aside, cleans an area of my upper arm, and then pushes the needle in without warning. “Owen was a mess while you were gone,” he says. “I doubt he slept more than five minutes until Bree radioed and said you were safe.”

Drinks clink behind us, and Clipper finishes administering the shot without another word. When he’s done, I can’t help but notice that he looks older than I remember, and taller.

“I’m sorry about Harvey,” I say. “I know he was sort of a father to you.”

“He was, wasn’t he?” The boy forces a smile, and moves on to Bree.

I visit Blaine that afternoon. He has moved from the hospital to his own room and while he is much healthier, he is still not fully recovered.

“I can’t run for more than a few minutes,” he admits. “Too much weight on my leg and the pain is worse than that time you hooked my lip when we went fishing. Remember that?”

I do and the image makes me smile. My first one since returning.

“I feel really guilty,” I say. I shouldn’t be smiling.

“About my lip? Forget it. We were kids.”

“No, about Harvey. We left him there. Bo said there wasn’t time, that we needed to keep moving, but I still can’t get over the fact that we didn’t even look for him. After everything he sacrificed, we just ran the other way.”

Blaine drags a hand through his hair which, like mine, has grown back out.

“Look, it was horrible when you were gone,” he says. “I hated it. I was positive you weren’t going to make it back. Pa was, too. And this sounds so terrible, like I don’t care at all about Harvey, but I’m glad it was him and not you. If someone had sat me down and made me pick, this is what I’d have chosen.”

I frown. “No one should have to pick, Blaine. Not over stuff like this.”

“I know. But still.”

He leaves to attend a physical therapy session, and I wander off to find some food. It’s a bit early for dinner, but my stomach is unsettled. I’m not sure if it’s from nerves or guilt or actual hunger, but I make my way to the Eatery and collect a small meal from the kitchen. I end up sitting with Bree, who looks like she visited the hospital to get her wound cleaned up. She’s wearing a blood-free shirt and is filling Polly and Hal in on our mission.

“So we can’t be certain, but including Christie, it seems like the Rebels lost another hundred or so after we left.”

“What?”

Bree looks at me like I’m an idiot and then says, “Oh, I forgot. You went to see Blaine during the debriefing meeting.” I stare at her until she realizes I want the details. “Right, so a bunch of Rebels fell in the public square—there just weren’t enough of them once the Order sent reinforcements—and that woman Christie? I guess they had footage of her helping you into the labs. One of our spies said she was executed the following morning. Publicly, just like Harvey.”

My stomach seizes. Christie must have known the consequences if Frank’s cameras caught her actions, but I still feel sick. I am alive because of her. All of Crevice Valley has the vaccine because of her. The number of people who have died for the Rebels is steadily growing and it’s not right. Why them? Why not me? Or Bree? Or Bo? How did we manage to get so lucky?

Suddenly, I need to be alone.

“Gray?” Bree asks as I get up from the table. “You okay?”

I leave without answering.

In the Basin, people have erected a memorial for Harvey and those lost during the battle in Taem. It’s nothing more than a circle drawn in the dirt, but people step into its center to lay down notes and flowers and candles. My pockets are empty and I have nothing to add to the tribute, but I step into the ring anyway. I close my eyes and I thank Harvey and Christie and all the other nameless Rebels who fell for a greater good. I tell them that I still stand by the promise I made the other night by the fire. The fight is not over, and while some may need a few days of revelry to celebrate this small victory, the Rebels have a steep climb ahead. I will climb alongside them. I’ll even lead if I have to.

When I turn to exit the ring, Emma waits behind me, a small candle cupped in her palm. The flame throws shadows across her face; and even though I know I should say something, I walk by her without a single word.

My room is as I left it, plain and uninviting. Sitting on the edge of my cot, I try to remember what life was like before all this. I don’t feel like the same person anymore. Maybe I’m not. There was a time when all I wanted was Emma and now even that confuses me.

I stare at the painting on my wall and wish it were a window. I need to see blue sky and clouds and birds flying in twos. I need to know that somewhere in this world, things are fair.

THIRTY-EIGHT

LIFE CONTINUES IN CREVICE VALLEY.
Even amid all the darkness and death, babies are born, people are married. When you don’t have to worry about Heists and losing your society’s ability to reproduce, people really do settle down like the birds.

Emma transitions into a nursing job and I avoid her. I am alone with her only once, when I visit the hospital to have my burned arm treated. She dresses the burn with salve and bandages. I’d forgotten how gentle her hands are, how their touch makes my chest ache. I’m thinking of kissing her, of grabbing her chin and saying, “Let’s start over,” when she turns her back on me to retrieve more salve. The impulse vanishes with her. The burns on my arm heal, turning to rippled and uneven skin over time, but the tension between us does not.

Bree washes the dye from her hair, visits the hospital several times to tend to her bullet wound, and in a matter of days it’s as if she never set foot in Taem at all. We fall back into our regular banter. When we train, we egg each other on. In conversations she interjects ridicule and I tease her endlessly. We avoid repeating our display around the fire on the eve of Harvey’s death, at least publicly. But on quiet nights, when she knocks on my door and stands before me with her blond hair framing that perfect face, I never turn her away.

There is little sleep on those evenings. We become a flurry of hands and lips and skin, but she always stops me when things get too heated. She doesn’t want a baby, and neither do I, but deep down it’s like I know sleeping with her will make it impossible to repair things with Emma. I find myself oddly relieved each time Bree presses her palms against my chest, whispering, “Not now. Not tonight.” If it weren’t for her words, I know I wouldn’t stop.