“What do you want to do with your life? After all this is over?”
He rests an elbow on the bar and leans his weight into it. “Be happy. Get old. And maybe fat. But only if I’ve got a girl by my side and a bunch of children running around and no reason to still look like a catch.” He winks a green eye. “I’d probably try to learn a few guitar chords, too. My dad used to play before he . . . Well, you know. What about you?”
“I’d want to settle somewhere quiet,” I say, trying not to overthink things. “I’d want woods nearby so I could still go hunting, and I’d want a small house. I guess something simple like what I grew up in. I wouldn’t mind privacy either, so long as Blaine was around. Oh, and Kale, too. She grew so fast in the two and a half years I knew her.” Sammy is staring at me like I’m a stranger, but I keep right on rambling. “I’d take up whittling, because my father always was fond of it. And I’d try to enjoy it all—every last moment, the highs and lows, even the people who drive me crazy. I’m starting to see life’s too short to hold grudges and judge everyone, you know?”
Sammy glances at the two drinks I’m still clutching. “How many have you had?”
I shake my head. “None, but I must be drunk anyway, because I somehow want you around, too. Even though you’re a pain in the ass.”
“Likewise.” Sammy’s eyes drift back toward the game, where Bree is taking aim at the dartboard. “How come she’s not in your story?”
“I’m still working on those details. Which is probably the same reason Emma wasn’t in yours.”
His face pales. We haven’t talked about Emma recently. Not for at least a week. We both still worry about her, both still love her, even, but in different ways. My feelings for Emma are unconditional and irreplaceable, but they’ve settled in a new territory since escaping Burg. I love her the way I love Blaine, or Kale, or Clipper. Even Sammy. She’s someone I’d die for, but for completely different reasons than why I’d also die for Bree. It’s so obvious now, these feelings, that I’m not quite sure how I was ever confused.
Sammy forces a smile, clinks his glass against one of mine in agreement. “For what it’s worth—and pardon me because I’m about to get painfully serious—I don’t think you should give up on her.”
Bree throws her dart. It strikes a thumb’s width from the bull’s-eye.
“I was never planning on it.”
We toast Clipper and celebrate late into the evening. Everyone has a bit too much to drink. We try not to think about what’s awaiting us tomorrow or what Elijah might find when he reaches Crevice Valley. I wanted a reason to resume forward momentum, but not at this cost. Plus, now that our meeting with Vik looms, I’m starting to worry about what he has planned for us. The last mission I was a part of saw over half our team die.
Sammy has Riley in a fit of giggles from a napkin he’s rolled up and scrunched between his upper lip and nose—a ridiculous white mustache. Bree and Clipper are attempting to re-create the look themselves. The boy looks especially determined to make Riley laugh as Sammy does. Nearby, Jules is sitting on a tall stool at an even taller table, talking with Blaine. They’re laughing about something, their proximity dangerously flirtatious. Blaine brushes the tip of her nose with his knuckle and she bats those eyelashes. Better at him than at me.
I keep wishing my buzzing head would warm to the merriment surrounding me, but when I look around, all I see are faces that might not make it. The odds have never been good. Not in anything the Rebels have faced.
I don’t want to lose any of them, and what stings most of all is the very real possibility—a deep, unyielding fear—that I won’t possibly be so lucky.
THREE
DESPITE THE FACT THAT ADAM is missing and Sammy can barely keep his eyes open, the meeting begins promptly at 0700.
With the exception of Blaine and Jules, who disappeared from the bar well before midnight, the rest of us didn’t retire until closer to two. By that time, Clipper was dozing off on a shabby couch, Riley out cold with her head on his shoulder. After a lot of nudging he grumpily followed us to bed. When I collapsed on my bunk, I couldn’t help but notice that Blaine’s was empty.
He sits beside me now, looking a lot more agreeable than he has the last few weeks. His hair is wet from a shower he didn’t take in our bathroom. I raise an eyebrow at him and he just smiles. Good for him. Maybe he’ll be carefree enough to finally side with me in these meetings.
Vik kicks things off unceremoniously, announcing that there still hasn’t been any word from Ryder. He promises more details as soon as Elijah is able to survey things and contact us.
The doors bang open, and Adam walks in, looking a bit disheveled. “Sorry I’m late. Did you tell them yet?”
Why are we constantly a step behind?
“You’re well aware that we have forces gathering in various areas,” Vik says to us, completely ignoring Adam’s entrance. “And if your group is still anxious to play a part, we’ve got an operation you can help with.”
Vik glances at me, waiting. I realize I’m somehow in charge again.
“I’ve made it clear we’re ready.”
He slides a glossy piece of paper across the table: a bird’s-eye view of the New Gulf. I saw maps bearing the same visuals aboard Isaac’s ship. AmEast and AmWest are divided by a blue chunk of water, which spreads north through two-thirds of the land before splitting into two thin bays. Vik touches an island in the dead center of the Gulf.
“You know what this is?”
“The Compound,” I say automatically. Isaac told me, my father, and Bo about it. I can feel the group’s surprised eyes on me. “It’s a water treatment plant.”
“Wrong,” Vik says. “About its purpose, not its name.”
“They’re working to purify salt water there,” I say. “I’m sure of it.”