PART FOUR
OF DIVERSIONS
THIRTY-TWO
IT TAKES US FOUR DAYS to get to the city’s outer limits. It is odd to be in open space again. I’ve seen nothing but the small radius surrounding Mount Martyr since my arrival, and to move through the land, to cover mountains and hillsides and valleys, is liberating. Harvey slows us a bit, his body not conditioned for the trek, but he doesn’t complain once.
I hunt, setting traps during the night so we can fill our bellies each morning. Harvey keeps the Rebels informed every step of the way. He has a small earpiece and miniature microphone and whispers into it constantly. Bree gives him a hard time.
“They don’t need to know that we rested for three minutes or that Gray went to take a piss or that I commented on the color of the sky.”
“Of course they don’t,” Harvey says. “But small details are nice when dark clouds are on the horizon.”
The morning that Taem’s protective dome appears before us, we stop and rest for the final time. We pass a canteen of water around in silence, staring ahead at the looming city. No one mentions how getting in will be easy. It’s leaving, vaccine in hand, that will be the real struggle.
“We should rough Harvey up before we head in,” Bree says. “He needs to look convincing. If he was really your hostage, he’d show up with more than a sweaty shirt and dirty cheeks.”
I look to Harvey. He is so frail and harmless. I don’t think I can bring myself to even strike him across the cheek.
“If you must,” Harvey says. He actually smiles at the idea.
I shake my head. “I’m not doing it.”
Bree lets out a heavy sigh and then marches over to Harvey and punches him without warning. She shakes her fist out while Harvey tends to his now bloody nose.
“More,” he insists.
Bree dislocates his shoulder and says, “You’re no good to us if you’re a completely broken mess. At least a dislocated shoulder is easy to right when needed.”
With that, Bree picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you guys on the other side. Good luck.”
She plants a kiss on my cheek, before sprinting off. While Harvey’s and my arrival draws eyes elsewhere, she plans to hop an inbound trolley. I watch her run, my hand pressed to the place her lips had touched.
We begin our trek toward the glinting dome. Harvey walks in front of me, his dislocated arm cradled against his chest, while I point my rifle at his back. As we draw closer, I swear I can feel his eyes. From somewhere deep inside his fortress, Frank is watching the cameras as his prized possession appears from the woods.
The barrier opens, wide and gleaming, and we walk into the city’s claws.
Waiting for us beside a car, with the door already open, is Marco. Order members stand at his side, their weapons following our movements as we approach. I can see the fear starting to take over Harvey now. I feel it, too.
“Well, if it isn’t a Weathersby twin, back from the dead. And with Mr. Maldoon, no less,” Marco comments. He bends forward and stares into my eyes, noting their color before righting himself. “Well done, Blaine. Well done indeed.”
The guards grab us, and we are forced into the car.
Frank’s office is as I remember it, a gleaming spectacle of decor and ornamentation. Marco shoves us into the chairs facing the desk and we wait. A moment later the doors behind us slide open, but there are no footsteps. I crane my neck around. Frank stands in the doorway. He examines his fingernails, cracks his knuckles methodically, and then enters the room.
He looks us over, first Harvey, then me, then Harvey again. His eyes gleam. As he examines us, he presses his fingers together in his quintessential wave, but today, the motion is not thoughtful and calm. It’s menacing. They are pale and knobby, his fingers, like dead tree branches.
“Welcome home, Blaine,” Frank says finally. His voice is as soft and buttery as ever. He smiles, a wide and mischievous grin. I shift in my seat.
Frank puts a spidery hand on my chin and pushes my face to the side. With another finger, he traces the faint scar on my neck. “My, what happened here?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “The Rebels tortured me for information. I passed out and woke up with a bandage on my neck.”
Frank squints at me. “How fortunate you are alive. We feared the worst.” He folds his arms across his chest, not once alluding to the fact that there had been a tracker under my skin. “How did you escape?”
Frank flashes his teeth in another ominous smile and I feel like throwing up. Why hadn’t I spent less time analyzing escape routes and more time practicing answers to these types of questions? I swallow and pray my voice remains steady.
“I went undercover. Pretended to understand their angle. Became sympathetic. I was under constant surveillance, but when I saw an opportunity, I acted on it. I jumped my guards during a rotation switch, took Harvey hostage, and hiked back.” I motion toward Harvey when I say his name and he flinches.
“That right, Harvey?” Frank asks. “Is that how it happened?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Harvey stammers. He looks terrified, and I don’t think he’s acting.
“You had a good thing here, Harvey, a real good thing,” Frank coos. “I don’t know why you made it come to this.”
The blood from Harvey’s nosebleed is now dry against his shirt, and with his bravery lost and his arm hanging limply, he really does look like a hostage.
Frank turns his attention back to me. “I’m so sorry about your brother.” His voice doesn’t sound sorry at all. “We received reports that he was lost during the fight that broke out beyond the Hairpin. You must be devastated.”
I’m not sure what reaction to play here: surprise, as if I hadn’t known the news, or grief, as if I am in mourning. Before I can make up my mind, Frank bends down so that his face is right before mine. I stare straight ahead, praying he can’t see the edges of the blue contacts in my eyes.
“So, Blaine,” Frank says. “You come back here, after disappearing for over two months, and because you have single-handedly completed Operation Ferret, you think I’m going to believe you.”
“Don’t you?” I ask.
“No, Blaine. I don’t. Not one bit.” The softness of his voice is gone, a bitter edge breaking through. “But you can make me believe you. Harvey is going to be executed tomorrow morning. Publicly. And you, my dear boy, will do the honors.” He smiles, a gleaming evil thing, like a pale moon breaking from behind a rugged mountain range.
“But . . . you said to bring him back alive. That was the mission. How can you free Claysoot if you just kill him?”
Frank keeps smiling. “There has been some progress since you left. We no longer need his answers.” A blatant, obvious lie. “But we do need Harvey alive so we can dispose of him ourselves and relish it. Do you know how happy the people of Taem will be to see this traitorous, murderous, deceitful man meet his end? Justice will finally be served, and you will be the bearer, Blaine. You will execute Harvey and prove to me your loyalty.”
Things start swimming in my head: timelines, plans, diversions. This changes everything, puts a giant gash in our strategy. We now have less than a day, until nightfall, to get what we need and run. I have only hours to find Emma. And, as if Frank has read my mind, he throws another gem at me.
“Oh,” he adds, grinning viciously. “Your brother seemed to have a strong liking for a girl named Emma.”
I stare through him, focusing on the fall leaves outside his window. Please don’t tell me Emma is dead. I say it over and over to myself. I won’t be able to hold it together if she is.
Frank moves his fingers in delicate waves. “She’s been working in our hospitals. Perhaps you’d like to pay her a visit? She’s awfully pretty, and since Gray’s gone, maybe a near look-alike will be enough to satiate her.”
My fists clench and Frank sees it. He smiles wickedly, and then adds, in that soft, flowing voice, “Now if you’ll excuse me, Gray—I’m sorry, Blaine—I have prior obligations to attend to.”
I sit there, wondering if he honestly mixed up the names or if he knows.
I have an uneasy feeling he can see right through me.
Harvey gets put in lockdown, not in the prisons but in a lone room on a busy corridor where three Order members guard him. A few workers in white lab coats are ushered into his room, bags in hand. Medics, maybe. I bet Frank is twisted enough to want Harvey in tip-top shape when he executes him.
I am allowed to roam the grounds of Union Central freely, but it takes only a few minutes to notice the guard tailing me, always staying far enough away to not be perceived as a threat but close enough to keep tabs. I sneak into a bathroom and bolt the door. After double-checking the place and confirming it’s empty, I attempt to contact Bree. I have a small earpiece, hidden from view, and a tiny microphone that Harvey has wired to the inside of my shirt.
“Bree?” I ask into it. “What’s your status?” There is nothing but static for several seconds, followed by a crackle, and then finally, Bree’s voice.
“Inside city limits. Got on the trolley no problem, and just had to ditch a few overfriendly Order folk.”
“What about the diversion? Where are you with that?”
“What am I, lightning? Look, I’ve got to find a way to get into Union Central without drawing too much attention.”
“You’re wearing your old uniform. Just walk in.”
“Gray, we’ve been over this. I need to be invisible; no one can know I’m there. What’s the rush, anyway? We agreed the diversion would take place first thing in the morning.”
“About that . . . there’s been a change of plans.” I tell her of Harvey’s scheduled execution, and my supposed role.
She says nothing other than, “Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen today.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says. “But I’ll trigger the diversion by late afternoon. I promise.”
“It’s already noon.”
“Then you better stop distracting me. Just be ready for the signal.”
With that, she cuts out and I am left sitting in the bathroom, staring at my dazed reflection in the mirror. I try to focus on the approaching diversion, but even when I close my eyes, Emma is the only thing I see. I’m sure Frank did it purposely, filled my head with thoughts of her simply to distract me, to torture me. Knowing there is nothing I can do until I get Bree’s signal, I leave the bathroom. I look for the guard who was shadowing me, but seem to have lost him. My wrist access no longer works, and so at each door, I have to wait for someone in the Order to walk by and unlock it first.
The hospital is busy, but Emma is nowhere to be found. Perhaps she has the morning off or is working evening shifts instead. I let my feet take me by memory toward her quarters. I wait for what feels like hours before an Order member exits her hallway, and as he does, I slip through. Emma’s door is closed, but light trickles from beneath it.
Why am I not excited? Why am I not bursting with joy? This is what I wanted, my ulterior motive since the beginning. This is Emma. Emma who I’ve loved and still love and thought I might never see again. Is that why it’s hard? Because part of me never believed we’d be reunited? I raise my hand to knock, but pause. What will I even say?
Before I can lose my nerve, I let my knuckles rap on the wood. I hear the footsteps coming, bare feet shuffling across the carpet. Hands work the latch, and then the door opens, but the face before me does not belong to Emma.
“Blaine! You’re alive.” Craw beams. I can see Emma behind him. Her hair is a mess, sleepy waves coaxed out by the pillows. She holds bedsheets over her chest.
I punch Craw in the face before storming down the hallway.