In response, Liam only grunted.
I reached back, slowing my steps, suddenly unable to escape the thought that it was me he was angriest at—that Liam would feel like I hadn’t stood up for him enough upstairs, that not telling him about Cole’s and my plan had hurt him more deeply than I’d expected. I reached back for his hand, wanting the security of his touch, to comfort him, apologize, to just...be, and be with him next to me. I hadn’t even looked to see that he was okay; he was mentally banged up now, but I hadn’t checked for bruises, bumps, cuts.
And...nothing. My hand hung in the cold air. Nothing. God, he was mad, furious maybe. A painful knot formed in my chest and I pulled my hand back, drawing it closer to my side in a last-ditch effort to protect myself from the raw feeling of rejection.
Liam caught my fingers, but instead of weaving his through mine, he pressed a kiss there and crossed the last two steps between us so we could walk next to each other. He looped an arm over my shoulder and didn’t pull away when I stepped in closer to his side. I ran my hand along his back, up and down, up and down, until I felt the tight muscles there ease. When he looked down at me, his expression had softened enough that I felt the sudden urge to stand on my toes and press a soft, quick kiss to his jaw. So I did. He ducked his head, trying to hide his little, pleased smile. It was the first time I felt myself relax since he came strolling back in through the tunnel.
We’re okay, I thought. This is okay.
In total, it was about a five-minute walk from one door to the other. Stairs waited for us at the other end, and I realized with a start that we were heading back aboveground. The door waiting at the top of the stairs looked to have been hammered out of solid metal, and though the door hadn’t been locked, Cole still had to drive his shoulder into it in order to get it unstuck from its frame. He stumbled in with the force of his momentum.
The smirk on Liam’s face fell away the moment we stepped inside.
It was clear we were standing in one of the nearby warehouses—one of the many identical long, white buildings that seemed a dime a dozen in this part of Lodi. It looked to be roughly the same dimensions as the Ranch, but one level, and decidedly less livable—concrete, metal rafters. Windows lined the top of the wall, coated in dust and darkened by blackout sheets. The lights hanging from the rafters sputtered to life, illuminating the towering mounds of junk piled up around us.
There were no walls or offices, let alone heat or insulation from what I could tell; it was simply an unfinished garage. There were a few actual cars inside—their stripped-down bodies, really, and all of them propped up on lifts. Liam walked toward the nearest one, crouching down to inspect the engine and innards on the floor beneath it. All of the tires and hubcaps seemed to be lining the loading-dock door, which had been secured several times over by metal chains and locks. For the most part, though, it was a bizarre assortment of things: broken bed frames, sleeping bags, bags of screws and nails. I moved to open one of the nearby garbage bags, half afraid of what I’d find inside, but it was only crumpled old clothes they’d probably ripped off from a donation drop-off.
The smell in here was vaguely sour, tinged with exhaust and oil. Dust flew thick and heavy, forcing me to wave it away from my face in order to breathe. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how the League had stacked and sorted. I felt the first spark of temper hit me and turned to find Cole walking across the building.
Liam stood, his hands on his hips, eyes lit with something I didn’t understand. He didn’t seem daunted in the slightest now that the initial shock had worn off. There was an eagerness in its place. Somehow, he was seeing something I wasn’t—some sort of potential.
I mostly just saw red.
“This is a huge job!” I called after his brother. “Cole! He’s not going to do it by himself.”
“Obviously,” Cole hollered back. “He’s allowed to take some of the younger kids who won’t be training. His bosom buddy—the one that always looks like he’s got a bug up his ass.”
I started after him. “They’re not going to do this for you overnight—we should all be helping—!”
A clatter of metal against the concrete made me look back. Liam had moved on from the car to a nearby pile of bikes that were tangled together like brambles. He picked through frames and spokes and wheels, working carefully, trying to get down to whatever he’d seen under them. I stepped over a downed floor lamp to help him. I saw a flash of silver, then my fingers brushed against a tire. Liam let out a breathless laugh, working twice as fast now, his smile practically contagious.
“What is it?” I asked as we hauled it upright. “A dirt bike?”
He was vibrating with excitement, his hands flying over its sleek body, brushing away the dirt and dust. “Oh, man,” he breathed out. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“I’ll take your word for it....” I said.
It looked like a hybrid of a dirt bike and a motorcycle. Apparently I wasn’t that far off, because Liam explained, talking fast, “It’s a dual-sport motorcycle. It has the capabilities of a dirt bike for off-roading, but see? It has mirrors and a speedometer for streets. It looks like it’s a...yeah, a Suzuki. Wow. I’m kinda freaking out—”
“I know.” I laughed. “I can tell. Do you think it’ll actually run?”
Liam was inspecting it with reverent hands, stroking its every inch. “It looks like it’s in decent shape. They beat the hell out of it, didn’t treat her nice. Might be an easy fix.” He looked up and saw my expression. “What?”
“Do you actually know how to ride?”
“Do I know how to ride?” Liam scoffed, leaning over the bike’s seat so his face was inches from mine. His pale blue eyes were electric with his excitement; they sent a charge through me, dissolving the rest of the world into peaceful, quiet static. That last bit of distance must have been as unbearable to him as it was to me, because his fingers came down over where my hands rested on the busted leather seat. I felt his touch spread over my skin like late-afternoon sunshine. His lips skimmed my cheek, his breath warm against my ear as he said in low, honeyed tones, “Not only can I ride, darlin’, but I can give you a few pointers—”
“Hey, Hell’s Angels!” Cole barked. “I didn’t bring you in here to shop around for yourselves! Get your asses over here!”
Liam’s expression clouded over as he pulled back, the fluttering excitement vanishing like a candle blown out with a single breath. I must have looked as disappointed as I felt, letting out a small sound of irritation, because just like that he was smiling again as he tucked a loose strand of hair back over my ear. A softer, smaller smile than before, but one meant for me. It warmed me down to my bones.
After a moment of making sure the kickstand would hold the dirtbike up, he used his shirt to wipe the grime from his hands. I took the hand he offered, giving it a squeeze. With one last glance over his shoulder at his find, we made our way to where Cole stood in front of a towering stack of pallets. We were right behind him when I finally made the connection and realized what we were looking at.
I’d seen cardboard boxes like this before, and recognized the phrasing printed along the outside: 10 X 24 HOURS RATIONS GP NATO/OTAN APPROVED.
“What are we looking at, exactly?” Liam asked.
“Humanitarian rations,” I said, cutting Cole off. I felt hollow at the sight. “Do you know what country they’re from?”
“You’ve seen these before?” Cole asked, brows raised. “The government has this stuff under lock and key. They didn’t take any of this crap to HQ, either.”
“It was in...” I released Liam’s hand, stepping closer to the boxes so I wouldn’t have to see his face as I said, “It was when we were in Nashville. The military was housing food and medical supplies in an old airport hangar.”
The raid was like a night tide in my memory. It constantly seeped up from the darkest corners of my mind to catch me off guard, lay me low. Liam, so pale as he struggled to breathe. The knife in my back. Jude’s quiet bravery as he stepped out in front of all of us and sent electricity shooting toward the soldiers. Losing sight of the others. Rob. The muzzle. Blood on a broken windshield.
I turned my back on the boxes and pallets, but forced myself to stand still until the crushing weight lifted off my chest and I could breathe again. It was getting harder to outrun its reach.
“Okay,” Liam said finally, “but where did this stuff come from? And how old is it?”
“A few years, but most of this stuff is nonperishable. Meant to last. I just forgot it was here until I saw an inventory list in the office.” Cole pulled a small knife out of his back pocket and flicked the blade out. He gutted the box, letting the red, individually wrapped packages of food spill out at our feet. There was a simple image of a man bringing food to his mouth and a Chinese flag. “We heard rumors that the government was trying to hide humanitarian aid other countries were air-dropping—that whole ‘we’re America, we can do it ourselves, everyone else has abandoned us’ bullshit. This load was left somewhere in Nevada.”
“You never used them?” I asked.
“Never had to,” Cole said. “We had food suppliers. Alban wanted it as evidence of how Gray was working against the public, but nothing ever came from it. This building is filled with half-baked ideas, lost trains of thought.”
He shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. I saw the way his grim expression seemed to twist with pain in the second before he turned to Liam. “If you get this place in order, then, fine, consider yourself quartermaster. You can figure out a way to bring in supplies.”
“Supplies meaning food, cleaning supplies, sundries,” Liam said. “If you’re thinking that I have a way of getting you guns—”
“No shit, kid,” Cole interrupted. “We’re going to have to work Senator Cruz’s connections for gas, weapons, and the mountain of ammunition we’ll need.”
“Exactly how much do you think that’ll be?” Liam asked, alarmed. “We’re fighting, what? One or two key battles? Not a whole damn war.”
“You worry your pretty little head about breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Cole fired back. “Let the big kids do the hard thinking.”
I sent him a withering look he ignored, and he stooped to pick up one of the daily ration packs from the ground. He tossed it from hand to hand, his forehead creased in thought. “But it doesn’t solve the bigger issue we have now. Based on the plans that are coming out of that room, we’re going to need a lot more bodies working with us. Another two dozen kids at least for a camp hit. If you have any bright ideas on how to find ’em, I’m all ears.”
A tired kind of resignation wove in and out of my thoughts, overriding the worst of my reservations. I must have sighed, because both of the Stewarts turned to me, mirror images of interest.
“Actually,” I said, my voice betraying the unsettling certainty working its way through me, “I think I do.”