PART THREE
OF REBELS
NINETEEN
I WANT TO BE AS far from the Order as possible by nightfall, which gives me only a handful of hours to cover precious ground. I run until my lungs burn, and then slow to a brisk walk. The landscape has become rugged and rich. Trees seem uncommonly tall, and they grow so close together that I am forced to weave my way between them. It’s hard to imagine that just this morning I was recovering from a trip to the infirmary.
A strong breeze whips at my back. The sky above me is barely visible through the thick leaves. It is a calm, pale blue, but the air smells like rain. A storm is coming. It’s nice to feel these things again, to know and understand the world around me. It almost makes me feel like I am back in Claysoot, hunting in the woods. Almost.
I check my map. There’s a ledge ahead and some landform labeled the Hairpin, but it will be better to make camp now. The sun is already setting and the wind is too strong. I don’t want to get stranded on an open ledge in bad weather.
In the very bottom of my pack is a hammock, which I tie between two trees, and a tarp, which I string overhead. Fearful of being spotted, I refrain from making a fire and instead pull the collar of my uniform up high around my neck. When the rain first begins, it is gentle. The drops fall daintily, landing in uneven beats as if the storm may pass right over, but then the sky unloads itself in one fell swoop. I dart beneath the tarp. Water comes down in sheets so thick the forest about me becomes a blur of motion.
I wonder how long it will take for Blaine to realize I’m missing. I wonder what Frank will tell him. Emma and Gray were caught in a crossfire downtown. Emma and Gray walked beyond the dome of the city and were killed by Rebels. Emma and Gray ran away. Lies, lies, lies. I need to return for Emma, but I need Harvey, too, otherwise Claysoot will never be free. Continuing toward the Rebels makes sense, but I have no concrete plan, no strategy. Everything has been turned upside down and it’s giving me a headache.
When it starts to hail, I abandon the dried fruit I am eating for dinner, climb into the safety of my hammock, and sleep.
It rains all night.
I eat more fruit the following morning. I seriously contemplate hunting but know it will take too much time. I have just the one knife, and setting a trap would require waiting for something to wander into it. I break down camp, check the rising sun and the map, and continue north.
Maybe two hours later, I find myself walking alongside a cliff, the forest continuing beyond it, hundreds of feet below. From here, I can see for what seems like forever, an endless stretch of treetops spanning out before me. I follow a path along the ridge until suddenly it turns so sharply to the left, and downward, that it would be easy to overlook it altogether. I’ve reached the Hairpin.
It is slow going. The earth beneath my feet is loose from the previous night’s rain and I progress with careful steps. At the base of the cliff, where the decline meets the forest plane, I notice a footprint in the moist earth. It is identical to the markings my boots create.
My heart rate quickens. The Order must be nearby.
I stick to the shadows for the rest of the day. I walk on pine needles when possible. I pause often. I hear nothing but the sounds of the forest—wind between branches and birdsong—until later that evening.
It’s past nightfall, as I am setting up my hammock, when I make out the voices. I should stay put, keep a safe distance, and yet I can’t help but wonder who the voices belong to and what they are discussing. I repack my gear, and with the bag on my shoulder, I steal toward the conversation.
The terrain has grown rockier this side of the Hairpin, and it offers plenty of coverage. I dart from boulder to tree to boulder, staying out of sight. Ahead, through the branches, I can make out the faint glow of a fire. As I edge closer, I realize it’s a camp. An Order camp. There are perhaps two dozen of them, sitting around a central fire pit that casts warm light upon their faces. Some have their backs to me, but the man who appears in charge is fully visible. His hair is shaved so closely to his head, I wonder if any ever grew there at all.
“I want to be very, very clear about what we are doing here and how we are going to do it,” he says. “Operation Ferret is perhaps one of the most critical assignments our division has ever been tasked with. It is imperative we don’t screw this up.”
Operation Ferret: the folder Emma and I had discovered back in Union Central. It must be the mission Frank has been planning since he heard Harvey was spotted in the forest.
The man pauses dramatically and looks over his team. I follow his gaze and recognize Septum and Craw in the firelight. They look nervous. This must be what they’d consider their first big mission.
“Mount Martyr is our final destination,” the man continues. “We suspect it, or at least one of the neighboring mountain ranges, to not only be the location of Maldoon but his headquarters for the entire Rebel movement. Do not underestimate this man. He is ruthless and far more cunning than he appears. Our mission is to bring him back to Taem. Alive. It is crucial that he is brought back in one piece.”
I picture Harvey, his frail frame and dark eyes. I can see his piercing gaze as clearly as if he stood before me. I have to tail this group. Or get to Harvey first. I need to get answers from him before Frank does.
The man folds his arms over the red triangle on his chest and continues. “Tomorrow morning, we start a trek that will take us to the base of Mount Martyr, and from there, the retrieval of Maldoon begins. Follow orders, and I am confident this operation will be a success.”
The man then points to a few individuals, and asks them to join him in his tent. I adjust the pack on my back, ready to retreat and set up camp from a safe distance when a twig snaps behind me.
I spin to face nothing but dark shadows and silhouetted trees.
Another snap.
This time I see the figure: tall, dark, pointing a gun at me. It is a smaller model, like the one Frank had. “Stay right there,” he orders, walking into the extended glow of firelight. It’s Blaine. He drops the weapon to his side as soon as he recognizes me.
“Gray! What are you doing here?” he whispers.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m on this mission. First big one and a chance to catch Harvey, no less,” he says proudly.
This is better than I could have planned it. I can fill Blaine in, tell him about Frank. I can get him to help me capture Harvey before the Order does. My chances for success have always been slim, but with Blaine, I feel more sure.
Before I am able to get out another word, a figure is approaching us.
“Blaine? Your watch is up. I came to relieve—” The man sees me and freezes. “What the devil? Where did he come from?”
“It’s okay, Liam,” Blaine says. “This is my brother, Gray.”
Liam eyes me suspiciously. “How did he get here?”
“He . . .” Blaine pauses and looks at me, puzzled. “How did you get here?”
This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Liam draws his gun and points it at us both. “Toward camp,” he orders, motioning with the weapon. “Right now.”
Blaine raises his hands. “Liam, this is my brother, not the enemy.”
“I don’t care. He shows up snooping around in the woods and he isn’t on the mission list. Move toward camp.”
As we near the campfire, the other Order members stare.
“Evan?” Liam calls out. The bald leader reappears from a tent, and I remember. Evan was the man Frank talked to that day outside the dining hall, the person tasked with readying a team to retrieve Harvey. “Found this kid spying on us in the woods,” Liam continues. “Blaine says his name is Gray. They’re brothers.”
Blaine tries to say something, mumbling in my defense, but Evan raises a hand and silences him. Someone brings Evan a handheld device that looks a lot like the one Marco had used in the Outer Ring.
“I’ve got a Gray Weathersby here,” he says into it. “I don’t know how he arrived, but he is wearing an Order uniform and has a supply pack. We found him on the outskirts of our camp. Orders?”
The unit breathes static, overriding a voice, muffled and choppy.
“Say again?” Evan shakes the device, but the vocals don’t clear. He curses, tries to make contact again, and eventually gives up. “Those things never have the range we need. Bring him here.”
Liam pushes me forward and doesn’t let up until I am standing so close to Evan that I can see the firelight glistening off his smooth scalp.
“What are you doing out here alone?” he asks.
“Individual mission,” I say hurriedly.
“That so? Funny, I wasn’t aware of anything else happening this week, not with the mission my team is about to conduct. You got papers?”
“Yes.” This is not going to end well.
“Let’s see them.” Evan snaps and points at my pack, which Liam starts rifling through. He doesn’t even bother to take it off my back and I am jostled left and right as he digs.
“Sir,” he says. “There are no papers. And this pack . . . it’s not a standard mission pack. It’s for deliveries. Enough supplies for two days, tops.”
Evan pulls at my bag, takes one look at its contents, and then shoves me. “On your knees.”
“Wait. What are you doing?” Blaine asks, his voice uneven.
“His bag belongs to the supply team that is supposed to be here in the morning to restock us. He’s lying.”
Evan draws a gun from his hip and Blaine flinches. “Put it away,” he says. “If he’s lying, I’m sure there’s a reason.”
“And whatever it is, it won’t be good enough.”
Liam forces me to my knees.
All that running for nothing. I should have ignored the voices and made camp back in the trees. Blaine is saying something to Evan, frantically pleading, but the man has made up his mind. I catch Craw on the other side of the flames. He grimaces.
I hear Evan move behind me, feel the weapon press against the back of my shaved head. It is cold. I’m thinking of Emma and Claysoot and unanswered questions and if it will hurt when I realize it has grown quiet; too quiet. The rustling of animals in the woods is gone. Not even the wind makes a noise.
And then I hear it, the gentle whiz of a projectile through air. It is followed by a soft thud. Evan coughs and falls onto me. I shove him off and find an arrow in his chest, red blossoming over his shirt.
“Rebels!” Liam yells. “We’re being attacked!”
The arrows come in a steady stream, piercing their way through the darkness. Some are on fire and send tents ablaze when they connect with canvas. I cover my head with my hands and scramble to my feet.
Blaine grabs my arm and tugs. He’s pulling me from the madness when an arrow grazes his arm. He stumbles. I turn in time to see a second arrow burrow into his leg. He falls instantly.
“Blaine!”
I bend to examine him on the ground, barely dodging another arrow that whizzes overhead. Blaine is clutching his thigh. Already there is a lot of blood and I can’t see the wound.
“Is it bad?” he asks, coughing.
“You’re fine,” I say, even though I’m certain he’s not. “Come on, we have to move.” I sling Blaine’s arm behind my neck. He is heavy, but in the moment, my legs don’t seem to care. I run away from the fire pit, supporting Blaine’s weight as best I can. Gunfire breaks out behind us, our attackers now shooting both arrows and bullets.
The camp is in absolute chaos. Order members drop sporadically while the attackers stay hidden in the evening shadows.
“Fire at will!” someone shouts. Bullets race in both directions. How the Order is not shooting their own kind, I am not sure.
“Fall back,” another voice demands. “Fall back now!”
I duck behind the nearest boulder. Craw, too, is using the rock as shelter. “What happened?” he shouts over the gunfire, eyeing Blaine.
“An arrow. It hit him.” My ears ring from the shooting.
“He’ll be okay,” Craw says, reloading his gun.
“I don’t know.” I watch him ready the weapon. He slams ammunition in place and then leans back over the rock, spraying bullets into the darkness. A series of arrows comes back at us, forcing us to flatten our bellies to the ground.
Craw looks at me desperately, and then Blaine. “I can’t hold them off much longer,” he admits. “You should go. Now.”
Bullets come flying at the rock. I’m struck with the realization that this might be it, that I might not make it beyond tonight or back to Taem and I never got to tell Emma how I really felt. She seems so distant suddenly. Irretrievable.
“If you make it back to Taem, tell Emma I’ll come back for her. And that I love her. Can you tell her that?”
If Craw is surprised at that word, he doesn’t show it. He gives a nod, one quick jerk of his chin, and then leans back over the rock. He points his weapon into the darkness and speaks without looking at me. “Go. Now,” he orders. “I’ll cover you.”
I shift Blaine so that my arms are better locked beneath his shoulders, and as Craw opens fire, I run.