The Capture (13 page)

I
APPROACHED
H
OPE THE
next morning while we were setting up camp.

“We need to tell them,” I said. It was the first time we'd spoken in days.

“What're you talking about?”

“The letter we read in your overseer's office. We need to tell the others. No more secrets.”

Her eyes shot daggers, and she seemed about to turn away until her gaze fell on Diana, Scylla, and Helen. They had stopped what they were doing and were listening to us.

Hope exhaled noisily and took a step forward. “Back before we escaped from Camp Freedom, Book and I broke into Thorason's office and found a letter. From Chancellor Maddox. It said they needed a Final Solution
to the question of the Less Thans and the Sisters.”

A long silence followed.

“What's ‘the question'
of the Less Thans and Sisters?” Diana finally asked.

“What they're going to do with us.” Then Hope corrected herself. “Or what they're going to do
to
us.”

“According to the letter,” I said, “the government intends to kill us all. And ‘leave no trace.'”

Even as sunlight crept through the trees, it felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of camp.

“They want to wipe us out?” Flush asked.

“Pretty much.”

“Why would they do that?”

Hope shrugged. “You'd have to ask the chancellor.”

“And you didn't want to tell us this before?” Diana asked.

“I thought it'd make everyone panic.”

A sudden breeze rustled through the trees, smelling of dust and an approaching storm. That two individuals hoped to wipe out a whole group of people was more than we could understand. I'd known about the letter and I still couldn't quite believe it.

Flush turned to Cat. “Did you know about this?”

“No, but I'm not surprised.”

“So now what?” Helen asked, her chin quivering.

“Simple,” Hope said. “We have to catch up with the Sisters and free them. Before it's too late.”

“And then?”

“We'll worry about that later.”

She packed up her belongings and abruptly marched off, abandoning camp. The rest of us followed.

The road was littered with clothing scraps, shell casings . . . and corpses, their decomposing bodies not yet claimed by Brown Shirts. At one point we stumbled across a set of twins, their fingers intertwined like vines, as if they'd made the decision to die together.

When the rain came, it was a blessing and a curse. It soaked us to the bone and made the road a soggy mess, but it also tamped down the stench of death that hung in the air like morning fog. We sloshed through mud and gravel, each in our own private world. There was a fury building in me. I was angry at the Brown Shirts, angry at Chancellor Maddox, angry at a world that cast us as victims. I was tired of being prey. Whenever anyone tried to talk to me, I grunted and moved away. I was in no mood for conversation.

Darkness fell, but we kept going. We had to catch up with the Sisters. It was just past midnight when we first caught a glimpse of a campfire—a small orange flame cutting a hole in the black. We lowered ourselves to the ground and inched forward.

Five Brown Shirts had set up camp in a rotting barn. While they huddled around the fire just in front of the open door, behind them, lying huddled on the floor, were scores of Sisters, their withered bodies racked
with shivering, their eyes sunken and hollow. A series of crisscrossing ropes created a makeshift fence that confined them to the back of the barn.

I had not seen these Sisters before, but judging by Hope's reaction, they had never been like this. Even tough Diana brought her hand to her mouth, covering it in disbelief. These captured Sisters were more like walking skeletons than actual human beings.

We retreated and laid out a plan. The five Brown Shirts had us outmanned in terms of weapons, but if we were smart, we could use the darkness as an equalizer. When Hope came to the part about “taking out Brown Shirts,” I stopped her.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“What do you think I mean? Kill 'em.”

I gave my head a shake. “Uh-uh. We're better than that.”

We'd been forced to kill in the past, it was true, but if there was any way to avoid it, I thought we should. Maybe it had something to do with not wanting to turn into the very people we were fleeing from.

“So what do you suggest?” Hope asked impatiently.

“Free the Sisters, capture the Brown Shirts. Period.”

Hope rolled her eyes. “And what'll prevent the soldiers from coming after us?”

“I don't know. Tie them up, take their boots—do something so they
can't
come after us.”

Hope shot a look at Diana and Scylla.

“Fine,” she said. “We'll do it your way. But if things get out of hand . . .”

“. . . then yes. We'll do what we have to do.”

We buried ourselves in the bushes and tried to grab some sleep. An hour later, Hope woke me with a hard slap on the face. The others she gave a gentle nudge.

Cat and Helen stayed back with Twitch and Four Fingers. It was impossible for me to read Cat's expression. Was he depressed that he couldn't come with us? Or had he already given up? On us? On success? On
living
?

The rain had stopped by the time we crept forward, approaching the barn from the side. The Brown Shirts' fire had faded to embers, and four of them were sleeping just inside the rotting structure. The fifth was on watch, sitting by the dying fire.

Diana went first, crawling through the weeds. When she was in position, I launched a pebble from my slingshot, and the soldier on watch sat up, pulling a pistol from its holster. I waited a moment, then sent a second rock flying. The Brown Shirt threw himself to his feet, his 9mm aimed in the direction where the rocks had landed.

He never saw her coming. Diana sprang forward and tucked the gleaming knife edge beneath his chin. Even in the dark, we could see the enormous whites of his eyes.

“Drop it!” she hissed.

He made a move with his pistol, and she dug the knife even deeper into his neck. “Drop it!” she said again.

Reluctantly, he tossed his weapon to the ground.

We raced for the barn. Hope, Flush, Scylla, and I were each assigned a Brown Shirt, and, like Diana had, we placed our knives against their throats until the blades bit into flesh. Only Scylla's fought back, grabbing his rifle and firing off three quick rounds into the rafters. There was a great flapping of wings as pigeons scattered.

She jabbed an elbow into his nose and then disarmed him when he went to stop the flow of blood. As the gun went clattering to the side, she pressed her knife blade extra hard into his neck.

“All good?” I called out.

One by one, Diana, Hope, and Flush answered Yes. Scylla, chest heaving, gave a nod.

I breathed a sigh of relief. All things considered, it had been quick and painless. And no one had been killed in the process.

“Well done,” I said to the others.

Then we heard the click of a rifle . . . and a soldier's voice cutting through the dark.

“Not so fast,” he said, and I realized I'd spoken too soon.

T
HE
B
ROWN
S
HIRT STANDS
in the back of the barn, rifle raised.

“Why don't you all put your little knives down and step away,” he says. Once he emerges from the shadows, Hope recognizes his jutting chin. He was the one who tattooed the number on her arm when she first arrived at Camp Freedom.

“Maybe you didn't hear me,” he says, going right for Flush and placing the rifle barrel against his temple.

“We heard you,” Hope says, “but it doesn't mean we'll listen to you.” She presses her knife even farther into her captive's skin. It dimples like a plucked bird's.

Her response brings a crooked smile to Jutting Chin. “Fine with me. But remember: I'm the one with the gun.”

For a long, tense moment, no one does or says anything. Even the captive Sisters, who have stumbled awake, barely move. It's a standoff. A high-stakes game of chicken. Then the Brown Shirt reaches into his back pocket and removes something black and bulky. A walkie-talkie.

“Delta Mike One calling Foxtrot Charlie—do you copy? Over.”

In the seconds that follow, a dozen different scenarios run through Hope's mind: capture, return to Camp Freedom, Dr. Gallingham, experiments. Sweat pools on the back of her neck.

Jutting Chin pushes the button again. “Delta Mike One to Foxtrot Charlie, do you read? Acknowledge. Over.”

A muffled voice emerges from the staticky speaker, and Hope's heart sinks. It's over. Done. No escape.

Just as she's thinking this, two gun blasts rock the barn. Sisters scream and Hope flinches, as Jutting Chin crumples to the ground, his rifle rattling to the side. Hope looks around.

Cat. Gripping the lookout soldier's pistol, a tendril of smoke curling from the barrel.

Hope doesn't hesitate. She draws her knife across her captive soldier's throat, causing an eruption of crimson. The Brown Shirt's eyes open wide before he slumps to the barn floor. Scylla does the same with her soldier; he collapses.

“No!” Book screams. “Stop!”

But they don't stop. Diana takes the pistol from Cat, lowers her knife, and shoots the lookout soldier at point-blank range.

That leaves only two Brown Shirts: the captives of Flush and Book.

“What are you doing?” Book demands.

“We said we'd do it your way,” Hope replies, wiping the blood off with her dress. “Unless things got out of hand.”

“But they
weren't
out of hand! Cat got the guy! We were in control!” Book is nearly screaming.

Hope gives her head a disgusted shake and motions to the two remaining soldiers. “What happens after we tie 'em up?”

“We leave 'em.”

“And when they free themselves and tell Chancellor Maddox we were here? What then?”

“Like I said, we take their boots, their weapons. That way they can't follow us.”

“No, but they could talk—give our location away.”

At that moment there's a muffled squawk. “Delta Mike One, this is Foxtrot Charlie, do you copy? Over.”

Everyone's eyes land on the walkie-talkie lying on the barn floor.

“Delta Mike One, this is Foxtrot Charlie, do you copy? Over.”

At first, no one knows what to do. Then Hope walks over to the corpse of Jutting Chin, picks up his rifle, and places the barrel next to the walkie-talkie. She fires half a dozen shots until it's nothing more than a hundred pieces of smoldering black plastic. She turns to Book.

“Well?” she asks. “What're you waiting for? Tie 'em up so we can get going.”

But even as she says it, she wonders if it's the right thing. Why should they show any mercy for the Brown Shirts? When did the Brown Shirts ever show any mercy for them?

The rescued Sisters are more dead than alive. Their arms and legs look more like twigs than human limbs, and pelvic bones jut against frayed dresses. Their hair is matted with mud, and oozing, pus-filled sores dot their faces. Of the hundred and twenty-five who were marched out of Camp Freedom, only sixty have survived.

Hope knows they have to get out of there fast—it won't be long before other Brown Shirts come looking. But when the Sisters shuffle forward, their bodies torque and twist like the walking dead. Outrunning the Brown Shirts is out of the question.

They leave the road and follow a stream, which empties into a large blue lake, bordered by leafy trees. On
the far side are a dozen cottages. A badly faded billboard from pre-Omega days identifies them as Dodge's Log Lodges. While they're all in various states of disrepair, they at least have walls and roofs. The group will stop here for a day or two.

As they rip down cobwebs and sweep out cabins, Hope wants to think they're up for the challenges ahead of them. But the reality is they have no clear plan, the sick and dying far outnumber the healthy, and they can't even agree on what to do with prisoners. And now that Chancellor Maddox seems more intent than ever on implementing the Final Solution, Hope wonders if there's really any stopping her at all.

More than once she wants to break down and weep, but she cannot let herself.

Live today, tears tomorrow.

W
E GAVE THE CABINS
to the Sisters; the Less Thans slept outside. I found a grassy area beneath a willow tree and began preparing my bed. Cat sat off to the side, throwing pebbles into the lake.
Plop.

“You can help me if you want,” I said.

Plop.

“Maybe clear out this area.”

Plop.

“Or gather wood for a fire.”

Plop. Plop.

I still couldn't get over it. What had happened to the
real
Cat? I wondered. The guy with a million skills and even more ideas? Even after coming to our rescue at the barn, he'd just walked away—like he wanted no
part of us. To make matters worse, he had found three bottles of whiskey in a supply closet and seemed intent on getting himself drunk.

“They can't make it.” Hope. I hadn't heard her come up behind us.

“Who can't make what?”

“These Sisters. They can't make it to Camp Liberty. They'd be lucky to get another mile.”

I knew she was right—I did. And yet, hearing it from her so bluntly made me angrier than it should have.

“You just decided that on your own?”

“Along with the other Sisters, yeah.”

“Well, thanks for asking my opinion.”

I whipped the willow branches to the side. It was bad enough Hope preferred Cat over me; now she didn't even care what I had to say.

“So you think they're capable of making it there?” she asked.

“I'm not saying that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Only that it would be nice if I was allowed to have a say in all this.” I tossed the branches down on the ground.

Hope gave an exasperated sigh. “So do you disagree with the decision or not?”

“No . . .”

“Then why're you getting so upset?”

“Because you don't trust me, that's why.”

“Why should I?” she said. “After you promised not to step inside—”

“I know, I know, I broke your promise. I went inside a building I wasn't supposed to go into, I'm sorry. But you never even told me
why
I wasn't supposed to go into it in the first place.”

“That shouldn't matter.”

“And how about you, huh? Running off with Cat in the middle of the night. Sneaking around behind my back. And then, just last night, you promised not to hurt those Brown Shirts. You think I trust
you
?”

“We made a deal. We said if things got out of hand—”

“That's just it—they weren't out of hand! Cat got the gunman! We had the others covered. There was no reason to kill them.”

Hope was clenching her jaw so tightly, I thought she might crack a tooth. She glanced at Cat, but he took a long pull from his bottle, acting like we weren't even there.

“Listen,” she hissed, “when you've gone through what we've gone through, maybe you'll understand. In the meantime, you have no right to judge.”

“But that's just it! I don't know what you've gone through because you won't talk about it. I saw those pictures in the infirmary; I saw you and your sister; but I still don't understand. Not really.”

Hope glared at me.

“You want to understand?” she said.

“Yes.”

“You really want to know what happened to me?”

“Yes!”

“Fine. I had a twin sister.
All of us
had twin sisters. And the Western Federation Territory somehow thought it'd be a good idea to test out their new drugs on us, even if that meant killing a few in the process. Dr. Gallingham injected us with who knows what, and when he got tired of that, he did other things, terrible things, like yanking out our teeth and ripping off our fingernails and burning us with cigarettes, just to see how much pain we could endure. Or how much cold.”

Hope's voice suddenly broke. Her nose began to run, and she wiped it angrily with the back of her hand.

“I watched Faith die and there was nothing I could do about it, even though I'd promised I'd always be there for her. When they pulled her from that ice water, I was helpless. She died, cold and alone. Now there's just one of us—me.”

She looked up, her brown eyes meeting mine. Once more, it felt like her gaze penetrated my soul. “Maybe we didn't need to kill those soldiers—maybe you're right. But I know what they're capable of, and so do all the Sisters.” Her eyes dropped, as if she'd said too much.

I wanted to speak, if only to say
I'm sorry
, but for some reason I couldn't find the strength. Even as Hope continued to stare at me,
expecting
me to say something, I had no words.

“As for Cat,” she went on, “we
were
sneaking off in the middle of the night, but it's not what you're thinking. He was helping me search for my childhood home. My dad chose a house that was hidden in the woods, and I thought it might have been around there. I needed—well, it doesn't matter what I needed. Cat and I never found it.”

My heart sank. I felt suddenly nauseous. To think I'd been jealous of her for that.

She gave her head a sad, disappointed shake. “Oh, Book, I have nothing more to say to you.”

She turned and started to walk away.

“Does that mean you're not coming with us to Camp Liberty?”

She stopped. Her mouth opened wide in surprise. “Is that what you want?”

“I don't know. Is that what
you
want?”

She didn't answer—I didn't speak—and for the longest time it was just the wind rustling the leaves.

Finally, I said, “If we have nothing to say to each other, then no, I don't want you to come. We'll free those Less Thans on our own.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“I just said so, didn't I?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She turned and walked off. I looked over at Cat. He didn't say a word, just kept drinking his whiskey and tossing pebbles into the lake.

It suddenly felt like the whole world had turned against me. In a few short days I'd lost Cat and Hope both, and that realization made me sadder than anything I could possibly imagine.

We stayed there three days, long enough to catch fish, gather berries, construct some bows and arrows. When the group of us Less Thans prepared to leave one night, the Sisters gathered to see us off.

Hope was not among them.

We'd lost our bearings since rescuing the Sisters and weren't clear where we were—only that Camp Liberty was somewhere to the north of us.

Before, Twitch and Cat had guided us, using nothing but the sun and stars to get us to the Heartland. But Twitch was blind and Cat had stopped caring. He trailed along in the dark, the bottles rattling around in his backpack.

“Why didn't you just apologize?” Flush asked out of the blue. We were walking on the edge of a long-neglected field. Argos was by my side.

“Apologize for what?” I asked.

“For whatever you said to Hope. I mean, it's obvious you said or did something you shouldn't have and that's the reason she's not coming.”

I felt my jaw tighten. What did Flush know about it all? And how dare he pretend to lecture
me
? “What if I don't have anything to apologize for?”

“You really don't?”

“No,” I said firmly.

Flush gave a casual shrug. “I mean, I don't know much about anything, and you're a couple years older than me, but there's always something to apologize for, isn't there?”

“All I did was go into the infirmary. And she was the one who killed those Brown Shirts when we urged her not to. So, stepping inside a building versus killing some unarmed human beings. No difference there whatsoever.”

“I'm not sure sarcasm becomes you.”

“Well, if I can't be sarcastic, I've got nothing left.”

My words wafted across the vacant field. When Flush finally responded, his voice was steady, calm, even a little quiet. I had to strain to hear him.

“I used to think we'd live forever. Even as crappy as things were back at Liberty, I just figured we'd all have long, full lives. But then we saw what the Hunters did. And Frank died. And June Bug. And those Sisters. And now I know different.”

“So what's that have to do with anything?” I asked impatiently.

Flush turned to me. “I don't know about you, but I just want to make sure I make the most of my time here and don't let anything get in the way of that.”

By the time I thought that through, Flush was a good ten paces ahead of me.

We marched for two straight days, and whenever we crested a hill, I took a long look behind us.

“What're you staring at?” Cat asked.

“Just making sure we're not being followed,” I said.

But the truth was I was looking for Hope, longing to see her come tearing through a tangle of trees, spear in hand, ready to join up with us once again . . . even though I knew the odds were hard against it.