“Will you just spit it out, Vik?” Bree snaps. “We’re all thinking it. Put us out of our misery.”
“We think they’ve been hit,” he says after a moment. “It was only a matter of time, to be honest. I’m half surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Frank has always suspected the Mount Martyr Range as the general location of the Rebel headquarters. It’s possible he took a risk and decided to level the whole of the mountains with an air attack.”
Our group is silent, numb. The only sound is Clipper, who has finally started to cry audibly. His mother is still at Crevice Valley. Or was. And he couldn’t get through to them. Couldn’t confirm or deny anything. All this on his birthday. Sammy is right. I don’t know a single thirteen-year-old who has worn heavier burdens than Clipper.
“Last we talked to Ryder was 1900 yesterday,” Vik continues. “He didn’t mention any suspicions regarding a possible attack, nor had he received any warnings from his Taem spies. This strike seems unprompted, unless Frank was responding to Rebel antics Ryder didn’t share with us. We’re holding out hope we’ll hear from him soon, but it’s not looking good.”
Blaine and I make eye contact. Ryder didn’t want to send Blaine west. It was supposed to be only Elijah overseeing our new alliance with the Expats, and if Blaine and I hadn’t demanded otherwise, my brother could be dead right now. And all those people still at Crevice Valley . . . The entire goal of teaming up with the Expats was to grow our numbers, and now every single Rebel who sought shelter there is potentially gone.
Unable to bear it anymore, I jump to my feet. “Can we finally do something? Fight back? Or are these casualties not large enough?” Blaine tugs at my sleeve, urging me to sit, and I shake him off. “Over two thousand of our people are potentially dead. What else needs to happen before we act?”
“We have been acting,” Adam snarls. “Bleak’s traveling to Expat safe houses and trying to rally any fellow Burg survivors who want to join our fight. We’ve got a bunch of our own men along the Gulf working with September to tip loyalties in Bone Harbor. Rebel and Expat spies are gaining numbers within domed cities. We are waiting for the pieces to align—for the moment when we can strike, all at once, in multiple locations. Any offensive attack before we are truly ready could backfire and set us back indefinitely.”
“You can dress your logic up however you want, Adam,” I say. “It doesn’t change the fact that Frank is getting stronger while we do nothing. That more of our people suffer while we tiptoe around miles from the fight, using the excuse of planning to calm our consciences.”
“We all want the same things here, Gray, so don’t imply this loss doesn’t hurt everyone. Or that the Expats aren’t as invested as you.”
I catch Bree in the corner of my vision. She’s shaking her head, a tiny movement that is not reprimanding, but cautious. A warning. Like she means to say she agrees but now is not the time. I clamp my mouth shut.
“Gray does have a point,” Vik says. Adam, who was leaning toward me from his side of the table, stiffens.
“I only mean that if Frank did indeed attack, it cannot be shrugged off,” Vik explains. “If we don’t counter in some manner, what message will that send? Clearly, Frank’s comfortable going after any lead that might hurt us, no matter how vague his information. He didn’t have direct coordinates for Crevice Valley, and it appears he acted anyway. He has resources to spare and is fighting dirty.” Vik turns to address Elijah. “We will shuttle you east immediately to survey the damage with a small crew.”
Elijah nods. In moments like this, I forget he isn’t much older than me. Other than the flask he keeps sipping from, he looks completely unfazed.
“As for everyone else,” Vik continues, “I want you back in this room first thing tomorrow morning. 0700. We have a lot to discuss.”
He escorts Elijah out, one hand on the captain’s shoulder, the other splayed across his own heart as he offers sympathies. This is why Vik is in charge and not Adam. This nurturing side, this ability to make people feel loved and cared for.
Heidi—Adam’s sister, Jules’s mom—sticks her head in the room. “Can I steal you?” she asks Adam.
Adam grumbles something and stalks off, leaving our original mission team—the few of us left from the trek to Group A in December—alone with Blaine. Ten of us set out from Crevice Valley and only four of that group made it to Pike. September, our cook and weapons expert, stayed behind in Burg. Everyone else is dead, two of them lost directly to Emma’s hands. Well, her Forgery’s. The same Forgery who reported information about Rebel headquarters to the Order. Nearby coordinates, not direct ones, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Frank suspected a certain location and Emma’s last tracker transmission was close to it. He took a chance, and the Rebels’ defensive grids couldn’t stop an air attack.
“So . . . ,” Sammy says.
He’s never been good in situations like this—too used to cracking jokes and delivering sarcastic comments. Then again, I’m not in my element either. Clipper is still struggling to gain control over his tears, and it hits me again: He is only thirteen.
“It’s still not confirmed, Clip,” I say. “She might be okay.”
“Some birthday gift, huh?” he says between sniffles.
The idea of a party—drinks and darts—suddenly seems ridiculous. “Hey, if you just want to head to bed tonight, we all understand. Whatever you need.”
“No,” he says, sitting up. “Don’t change the plans.” He wipes his cheeks dry. “I want to keep things as normal as possible. Let’s have that party. I think I could use a drink.”
“I don’t know if—”
“You just said anything I want,” he snaps.
I glance at Sammy, who looks like he wants to take back his comment about treating the kid to several rounds.