The Legion: Book Two of the Legacy Trilogy
Date: 2014-08-15 06:43:43+00:00
Description: A tyrant has been stopped. A new adversary, far more dangerous than the last, has emerged. The war has only just begun. “It has been four months since I murdered my husband, Eric Dane. Four months since the battle that was supposed to change our world. The year is 2044, and although we may have won the battle, the war is far from over. We believed that our mission was accomplished, that freedom was finally within our grasp. We were wrong. We now face a new danger, one without a face, without a name. An unknown enemy who is far more dangerous than Eric Dane ever was. Who is this adversary lurki
Publisher: Tracey McDonald Publishers

THE LEGION

Book Two of the Legacy Trilogy

MELISSA DELPORT

First published by Melissa Delport, 2013

This edition published by Tracey McDonald Publishers, 2014

Office: 5 Quelea Street, Fourways, Johannesburg, South Africa, 2191

www.traceymcdonaldpublishers.com

Copyright text © Melissa Delport 2014

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

ISBN 978-0-620-59641-1
e-ISBN (ePUB) 978-0-620-59640-4
e-ISBN (PDF) 978-0-620-59639-8

Text design and typesetting by Reneé Naudé

Cover design by Wendy Bow

Printed and bound by Pinetown Printers (Pty) Ltd

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

For my babies, my three beautiful children who are by far my greatest achievement – Mama’s done it again!

Acknowledgements

This book wouldn’t have been possible without the unwavering support of my amazing husband Murray who is truly my biggest fan, although he has never read a page of my work.

My special girlfriends – Annamarie Gey van Pittius and Wendy Bow – who have been my biggest support team, and have not once let me consider that my books would be anything less than a huge success. Here’s to Malibu, ladies . . . one day! Wendy, for all your hard work: cover design, proofreading, and above all your astounding honesty – only a true friend would tell you that a scene is awful and needs to be removed in its entirety. No, not edited; removed.

My beta reader Norma Neill, so much gratitude!

Clinton Green – my “pro bono” website administrator, for keeping me out of trouble.

Pam Thornley, “editor extraordinaire”, who has more talent in her little finger than I could ever dream of. Without you, I would never learn.

Tracey McDonald, my publisher – there are truly not enough words in my head to express my gratitude for your support and encouragement.

And finally – to everyone who read The Legacy and hounded me for the sequel which pressured me into producing it in record time, thank you so much for all your words of encouragement and for being my ambassadors. I hope you enjoy!

leg·ion

A large military unit trained for combat; an army.

“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

Albert Einstein

Prologue

It had been four months since the battle that was supposed to change our world. Four months since I murdered my husband Eric Dane, and I still cannot believe that nothing has changed. If anything, things have become worse.

After the nuclear holocaust of 2016, mankind faced extinction. It was never determined who detonated the first nuclear bomb, which country had been responsible for the destruction of our world, but it no longer mattered. The few who survived the war lived through the bleakest of winters; a primal existence became the new order, and the little that remained of our humanity hung in the balance. Until Eric Dane, who became President of the New United States of America (NUSA) in 2039, restored order. He shepherded a select few into ten of the Mid-Western States and erected the boundary fences to keep us safe. He rebuilt the cities; and technology, particularly in the fields of biotechnology, nanotechnology and genetic engineering, advanced far beyond anything we could have dreamed of before the war. Eric focused on what he needed to retain his supreme power and enhancement of human abilities was at the forefront of that priority. Research on brain-and-body-alteration technologies accelerated under his rule, enabling him to create an army of ‘super-soldiers’ so that no one could oppose him. Guns and traditional weapons were destroyed and all weapons engineering was abolished, supposedly to prevent us from ever repeating the bloody mistakes of our past but, in reality, to ensure that Eric’s army remained uncontested.

His obsession with genetic engineering resulted in other important fields of technology being neglected. Satellite communications, for example, were limited to within a few hundred miles of the States. We did not know what had become of the rest of the world, if there were others out there like us, if anyone else survived. We may never know. The New United States was our only continent, our only home. We were prohibited from entering the wastelands outside the fences for our own safety, due to the high level of radioactivity and the deranged inhabitants who posed a danger to our society. At least that was what we were told.

I was born in 2017 in Michigan. Michigan is one of the ten NUSA states, along with Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Nebraska and both North and South Dakota. I was raised by my mother Cara, my aunt Jessie and Jonathan Moore. Jonathan lost his wife in the mayhem that reigned shortly after the war and he stumbled across my family’s hiding place a few months later. He and his young son Aidan became firm members of our family.

I grew up oblivious to the truth. I believed, as did everyone else, that Eric Dane was the hero of our time, the man who had saved us from our own demise. That is, until my biological father found me when I was nineteen years old and enlightened me to the truth. He informed me that the sterilisation programme, border control and curfew laws were not acceptable, were not normal. That thousands had been abandoned in the wilderness where they fought to survive, while in the safety of the States we had more than enough food and water to go around. Beyond the borders, the Resistance grew and began to fight for freedom from the oppression that Eric Dane had foisted upon us.

The genetic procedures that enabled mankind to create super-soldiers were pioneered by my own father, Jeffrey Davis. I had believed him dead; a casualty of the holocaust, but he had survived in a fallout shelter at the Pentagon in Arlington County. When he emerged, along with Vice-President Kenneth Williams, they joined forces with General Harrison Ross and together these three men founded the Resistance, with the aim of restoring democracy.

My father had gone to work for Eric Dane in order to feed back information to the Resistance. He was a vital asset for the up-and-coming leader of our nation. It was his research and expertise that finally enabled Eric to eliminate the physical barriers and bridge the gap between human and post-human; man and ‘super’ man. Using a highly complex procedure involving vectors and the direct manipulation of the human genome, people could be “Gifted” with one of three abilities – speed, strength or the ability to heal. The procedures were very risky, the mortality rate high and so the super-soldiers were only ever Gifted with one ability, colloquially known as the Law of One. Speed or strength were by far the most common abilities given to soldiers. The gift of healing was rarer and usually reserved for people with intellectual capabilities considered crucial, those whose presence was imperative. They did not fight, but they could not easily be killed.

As far as I knew there had only ever been three exceptions to the Law of One. Only three people who defied the odds and survived three gruelling procedures to become the ultimate weapons in the war that was coming. Eric’s general Nina Lee was one, but she was killed in the final battle four months ago. Reed McCoy, my second-in-command, was another. He was a force to be reckoned with, possibly the most lethal man on the planet. I was the third exception. My name is Rebecca Davis. I am twenty-six years old and the leader of the Legion, super-soldier, mother, friend. More importantly, I am a woman who will not stop until this war is finally, truly over.

I sacrificed so much to the cause, to overthrowing Eric’s tyrannical rule and it seemed it was all for nothing. On the day of the final battle between the Dane Army and the members of my own army, the Legion, many lives were lost, people I cared about, people I loved. This war took from me the only real father I had ever known, Jonathan Moore, and the man that I loved, his son Aidan. Aidan was my best friend and the father of my child. I had loved him all my life, but I had left him to fight for the Resistance, a decision that had cost me dearly. I had married my enemy, and in doing so, I had sold my soul to the devil. All in the hope of a better world, a better future for my son Alex and countless other Americans who deserved their freedom, their right to live as they chose. When my husband Eric discovered my duplicity I fled into the barren lands, the home of the Rebels, and for one brief moment I believed that I might regain Aidan’s love and affection, that we might one day be together in a changed world, a world filled with hope. But that was not to be. It was too little, too late. Eric captured and tortured Aidan, and then he made me watch him die.

I got my revenge. Eric died by my hand. We overcame his army, and fleetingly believed that our mission was over, that freedom was finally within our grasp. Our victory, however, was short-lived. We had not even recovered from the loss of casualties in the final battle when the boundary fences were suddenly and inexplicably manned by countless NUSA soldiers, hundreds of warriors all genetically enhanced with the ability of speed or strength.

Unable to overcome such a force, we retreated into the barren lands to lick our wounds and try to figure out what had happened. We went home, to Las Vegas, Nevada, the headquarters of the Resistance.

Now we faced a new danger, one without a face, without a name. An unknown enemy who was far more dangerous than Eric Dane. I have to find the strength to go on. I will not stop until this is over. I owe it to myself, my son, my family, friends and all those who have lost their lives to the cause, to those who continued to follow me, who believed that I could bring about the change that we longed for. My father was missing. Aidan was gone. Those of us left behind live to fight another day.

The year is 2044, and although we may have won the battle, the war is far from over.

Chapter 1

I can feel the others only a few paces behind me and I force my body to push even harder, my legs pumping so fast that they are a blur beneath me. I cannot get the thought of my father out of my mind. I have spent four months obsessing about whether or not he is alive and how to find him. On the day of the final battle, he and Vice-President Kenneth Williams entered the city of Chicago in the aftermath to deal with the shaken, confused citizens. By the time we realised back at the Toledo, Ohio, camp that they had not returned, the boundary fences were swarming with guards and we could not get back into Illinois. I can only hope that wherever he is, my father is alive and well.

Running at this speed, the city comes into view a lot quicker than one would anticipate and I immediately slow down so as not to alarm the scouts. Reed McCoy and Michael Kelly, my running partners, rocket past me, only noticing a few strides later that I have decreased my pace to a jog.

“I almost had you!” Michael pants, slowing to a walk. His cheeks are red with exertion, his blond hair damp with sweat.

“Sure you did, kid,” Reed drawls from my other side and Michael’s chest swells with indignation.

“You can’t catch her,” Reed says, oblivious of the dark scowl on the younger man’s face, “she’s the fastest thing on the planet. Even I can’t catch her,” he continues, as though that settles it.

Michael looks petulant for only a moment, and then his natural good nature gets the better of him.

“I wonder if Morgan’s up?” he calls, picking up the pace and heading for the city.

“Not too fast!” I yell after him and, heeding the warning, he reduces his speed slightly so that the scouts will be able to identify him as he approaches.

“I doubt it,” I mumble under my breath. I am walking now and enjoying the view. “That girl couldn’t get up early if her life depended on it.” Reed walks alongside me, humming to himself.

The Las Vegas Valley is impressive, even by post-apocalyptic standards. The sheer number of buildings and structures is mind-blowing. Prior to the war of 2016, over two million people resided in the Vegas Valley, a 600 square mile basin surrounded by mountains. This is one of the reasons that Las Vegas was chosen as the home of the Rebels – why it is the only permanent residence the Resistance has established. It is far enough away from the Capital in Chicago, Illinois, and there are enough buildings and accommodation to house the almost two thousand people who are currently living here. It is also easy enough to monitor if anyone is approaching the city. We have scouts all around the valley who, from their vantage points up in the mountains, know well in advance if anyone is in the area.

Closer now, the passage of time and the lack of upkeep is far more noticeable. Many of the buildings are in desperate need of maintenance; peeling paint and plaster is commonplace. The roads are so bad that in some places potholes span the entire width of the two lanes.

“I’m sick of this place,” Reed comments, as we make for The Strip where our Rebel headquarters are situated. I choose to ignore his negativity – I know that there is more to his bad mood than the location.

“I’d rather be out here than back in Chicago,” I reply lightly, knowing in my heart that it is the truth. Chicago replaced Washington DC as the capital after the war and life there is easy. Living in the Rebeldom is far from it. There are only a few bathrooms with running water which, in itself, is a massive achievement considering the lack of funds and infrastructure. There is no electricity, only gas, and there are no luxuries. It is a far cry from the opulence I enjoyed as the First Lady during my three-year marriage to Eric Dane. Even growing up in Michigan within the boundary fences was nothing like this. I had taken for granted how much rebuilding had taken place since the war, only really appreciating it now that I am out in the wastelands where rebuilding is near impossible.

Even so, I would not trade this life for that one. I spent three years in a loveless marriage, living in a gilded cage, desperate to break free. I would never go back to that life, no matter how hard this one is, no matter how difficult. I have grown stronger and more appreciative of the simple things. Time spent with my son, for example, is worth far more than all the money and power in the world. Being surrounded by people who care about me, who I care for; being able to be myself, to be Rebecca Davis again, after so many years of wearing a mask – living a lie – is like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. I no longer feel stifled, trapped, helpless. Now, I feel liberated, satisfied, powerful, as if the world is alive with possibility. I would never trade that for anything.

“It’s going to be a scorcher,” Reed observes, his eyes on the horizon, where a haze glimmers as the heat rises off the ground.

“Well, it is Nevada after all,” I comment drily as I break into a comfortable run.

Nevada is a desert region. It is dry and hot. The arid climate does not allow for much farming or agriculture and water is scarce. There are a few cattle farms, a dairy, and we have a fair production of potatoes and onions. Key to our survival are the greenhouses and the vertical farming which yield our fresh vegetables, and without which we would not survive. Sustainability of the Nevada population, however, is heavily reliant on our largest water sources, the Colorado River and the nearby Lake Mead. All in all, it is not the best site for our largest population, but that very reason, and the fact that it is far enough away from the States, makes it the ideal place to hide, to protect our people.

I go at once to the Gold Room which is an old casino conference room adorned with faded gold curtains and a massive boardroom table. The carpets have long since disintegrated and huge patches of concrete show through the threadbare covering. The room is kept as clean as possible, but dark stains mar the walls and the paint is peeling.

Reed follows only a few steps behind me, eventually sitting down on one of the chairs on the far side of the room. As far away from me as possible, I notice. Things have been strained between us ever since that kiss. Since before that really, although I was far too preoccupied at the time to notice. Aidan’s death has changed me, has changed everything, and Reed cannot fight a ghost.

Determined to brazen it out, I cock my head to one side.

“Do I smell, Cowboy?”

“It was a long run, Rebecca,” he answers drily and I smile despite myself.

“They should be here by now,” he muses, deliberately changing the subject.

As if on cue, the double doors open and General Harrison Ross enters, followed by his two personal security guards, Peter Smith and Frank Wakeford. The other members of the council file in behind them. Kwan Lee gives me a brief nod of greeting before taking a seat. Reed uncurls his tall frame, stretches languorously, and goes to sit beside him. Morgan Kelly stalks past me, her curly blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Michael bounds alongside her, giving me a dazzling smile. He pulls out his chair with a hair-raising screech against the concrete, which earns him a disapproving glare from the General, who has taken his position opposite me at the other end of the rectangular table. Michael, being underage, is not technically a member of the council, but he and Morgan are kind of a pair; where you find one, you’ll always find the other, and I do not have the heart to ban him from the meetings, particularly as I have already banned him from active duty. Also, he saved my son’s life; I owe him. David Riley, bespectacled father of two, gives me a wink before he sits down, and Veronica Jones, a pretty young woman who takes the minutes and always looks slightly bewildered, as though she is not quite sure how she ended up in these meetings, gives me a timid wave before sinking down in her seat.

“Veronica, coffee,” the General barks as soon as she is comfortable, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Reed shows no such restraint and chortles with laughter. Veronica blushes to the roots of her fair hair and scuttles from the room. Everyone starts to talk among themselves and I turn to Michael who is sitting on my left.

“So, big day tomorrow?” I murmur and he grins.

“Yeah! Seventeen! Awesome, right?” Not giving me a moment to answer, he blurts out, “You are coming to the party?”

The party. I’ve heard all about it, of course, Michael’s birthday bash; it’s all any of the kids in town can talk about; self-planned by Michael who seems intent on breaking all the rules. Of course I have absolutely no intention of going, I am far too old for a teenage disco and, as for chaperonage, I am fairly certain that Morgan will curb any immoral behaviour. Michael’s sister is far too old for her nineteen years, even more so after losing her boyfriend Robert Rellis in the final battle.

As if reading my thoughts, she glances down the table at me, and I am surprised by the loathing in her eyes. Morgan and I have always had a tumultuous relationship; she is headstrong and stubborn but, all in all, I like and admire the girl. She is brave and is prepared to fight for her beliefs.

“So, you’re coming, right?” Michael’s voice brings me out of my reverie and I turn back to meet his hopeful gaze. Not having the heart to disappoint him and knowing how much I am going to regret it later, I nod.

“Sure, Michael, I’ll be there.”

Veronica returns with a tray of coffee and we get down to business.

“Joseph Hale seems to have taken over where Dane left off,” the General says. Joseph Hale assumed the position of President of the New United States shortly after Eric’s death, but we are well aware that this is an illusion. Hale had been only a minor player in Eric’s cabinet; he lacks the hunger and drive to legitimately want to be President. Someone else is pulling the strings, someone lurking in the shadows, manipulating the system. An enemy without a face. My husband had implied there was another power player before I broke his neck, but I hadn’t taken him seriously. I didn’t believe him, thinking it was just an excuse, a desperate attempt to save his own life. Not for the first time, I feel a twinge of regret, wondering if I had been too hasty, killing Eric before he could give us any information. The General, obviously thinking along the same lines, gives me an accusatory glare.

“Any news of my father?” I ask, changing the subject. He shakes his head and consults his notes.

“No, your father and the VP are both still missing, as is Quinn.” Quinn is Kenneth Williams’s nephew and he had been working undercover in the States as Eric’s henchman. “So far, our spies have been unable to unearth any information regarding their whereabouts,” the General continues and I slump back in my chair.

I remember waving goodbye to my dad as we left him to deal with the aftermath of the final battle. I had been so exhausted, so physically and emotionally drained, that I had waved tiredly to him and then I had turned away, letting Reed help me back to the Toledo Camp where we had mourned our dead. In the self-absorption of my guilt, I did not realise until the next morning that my father and Vice-President Williams had not returned, and we had headed back to the boundary fence immediately. The strong NUSA presence at the fences shocked us to the core. We believed we had dispatched most of Eric’s soldiers in battle, that we had overcome the Dane Army, but the sheer number that prevented us from re-entering the States was mind-blowing.

“Don’t concern yourself too much with your father’s welfare at this stage, Miss Davis; it’s fairly obvious where he is,” the General booms and I jerk my head back in shock.

“What? Where?”

“Well, he’s obviously at the main laboratory which we know is in the Dane Corp Plaza. There’s no way NUSA are creating the number of soldiers that they are without your father’s help.”

“My father would never help NUSA!” I exclaim angrily.

“Not without cause, agreed, but you don’t know what they might be doing to him; torture, threatening the life of someone he cares about; you should know well enough that there are many ways to make people do things they don’t want to do.”

I am almost on my feet when I realise that, in his own way, he is complimenting me. He is not accusing my father of willingly working against us and what he says makes a lot of sense. My father is the pioneer of the Gifting procedures; he holds the record for the highest success rate in administering them. It makes logical sense that they are using him to increase their army exponentially. I am relieved and terrified at the same time. If they are using my father, it means that he’s alive. But I know Jeffrey Davis; he will not stand by and be used for long. He will find a way to sabotage the serums, or he will try to escape. Either way, he will put his own life in danger as soon as he can, rather than work against the Legion. He is loyal to the cause. He has fought for the Resistance since the beginning, both he and Kenneth Williams.

“It’s the VP,” I breathe. Why is this only occurring to me now? “It’s the only reason he would do what they say; the only thing he has ever put above the cause is the safety of Kenneth Williams. He’s been protecting him since the holocaust; it kept him from his own family. They must be threatening his life.” My father would die before he allowed anything to happen to Kenneth. The General nods slowly, and I can see that it makes sense to him too.

“We need to get them out of there,” I continue. “If we know where they are, we can go in and get them.”

“Not possible!”

“General, this is my father we’re talking about. And Kenneth. They’re crucial to the Resistance, we can’t just leave them there.”

“We can and we will, Miss Davis.”

“With all due respect, General, I am the leader of the Legion,” I remind him firmly. “I decide what we can and cannot do.”

Surprisingly he does not look at all flustered by my declaration, he simply turns to Reed and Kwan who are sitting to his left.

“There’s no way, Tiny,” Reed begins, sounding sympathetic. “We’d never make it through the fences, not armed the way they are.”

“It would be suicide,” Kwan agrees, looking down at the table, reluctant to meet my eyes.

“The last thing we need is more innocent people getting hurt.” Morgan’s low rebuke is barely more than a whisper, but her accusation comes through loud and clear.

“What we need to focus on is increasing our numbers.” The General smoothly changes the subject, now that his point has been made.

“Aren’t there enough of us already?” Michael asks naively. “I thought we already had too many mouths to feed.”

“He means soldiers,” I clarify. “He wants us to create more Gifted soldiers.” The General does not miss the note of disgust in my voice.

“Well, what would you have us do, Miss Davis?” The General’s voice is dripping with contempt. “We are outnumbered by about twenty to one. Your little adventure four months ago lost us valuable resources and saw us lose our one chance at getting any answers. A dead man can’t talk.”

“People die undergoing those procedures!” I exclaim, deliberately ignoring yet another attempt to reproach me for killing Eric. “Losing our people in battle is one thing, but asking them to risk their lives before they are even in danger, is another!” I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Besides,” I continue, only marginally less angry, “my father is not here. And without him we haven’t a hope in hell of successfully Gifting soldiers.”

“Nice try, Miss Davis.” The General sees through my feeble attempt at bringing everyone around to my initial idea. “But we are not launching a suicide mission to extract your father. And in case you’ve forgotten, three of the soldiers at this very table were Gifted right here at headquarters. Successfully, as you can see.”

He is not wrong. David, Smith and Wakeford were all Gifted right here in the Rebeldom. One of the first things the Resistance did when my father secured his position in the NUSA laboratory was to secure enough equipment and research materials to set up a fully functional lab of our own – millions of dollars’ worth of scientific testing apparatus. We run the bigger, electronic machines on generators, but mostly it is very delicate manual work, compiling and testing the serums, studying DNA, using a multitude of high-tech lab equipment. How he managed to get it all out of the States without anyone suspecting him, is beyond me. The Resistance has been creating soldiers for years, since long before my time, and has always been cautious, taking its time, and aiming for success as opposed to quantity, which is why our numbers have never been anywhere near the NUSA army’s numbers. What the General is now suggesting though, is mass-production; Gifting as many people as we can in as short a time as possible.

Most of the Legion were Gifted here in our lab, only a few were found in the States when we were hunting for the individuals on Eric’s Gifted list. The exceptions, like the source of Kwan’s and the Kellys’ abilities, are a mystery. The Kellys, Gifted by their mother, do not remember much about their procedures. My gaze comes to rest on Kwan. It is no secret that he had his procedure done in order to seek vengeance on Eric for the death of his wife, but he has never divulged the source of his ability.

“What are the numbers?” Reed breaks the silence, sounding far more strategic than shocked at the General’s suggestion.

“We’re down to about two hundred soldiers, our estimates put NUSA defence at around four thousand, maybe more,” the General answers.

“We might need to consider it,” Reed looks down the table at me, and I gape at him.

“Reed!” I can’t believe he would side with the General on this, regardless of how strained things are between us.

“I only said consider it, Tiny; don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“What about Adam Vincent?” I address the General, trying to keep the disrespect out of my voice. Just before his death Eric had told me to find Adam Vincent. I had not thought much of it at the time, but when it became apparent that NUSA was not defeated with Eric, I realised that finding Adam Vincent might well provide the answers we are looking for.

“No news,” he answers. “None of our people have managed to find any trace of him. I am inclined to believe that Dane was manipulating you; there is no way Vincent could have survived the Washington blast.”

Adam Vincent, the son of President James Vincent, who was our nation’s leader when World War Three took place, was supposedly killed along with his father in the blast that tore through Washington DC. They were aboard Air Force One, but the jet never made it to safety.

“You survived the Pentagon explosion,” I counter, and the General sighs in exasperation.

“We’ll keep looking. But the chances of a seventeen-year-old boy surviving the holocaust on his own, in such close proximity to a direct blast, are highly unlikely.”

“But it’s not impossible!” Michael’s own almost-seventeen-year-old self is bristling with indignation beside me, and my mood lightens considerably.

“Exactly.” I smile at him.

Chapter 2

I emerge into the sunshine feeling no sense of achievement. We are not getting anywhere. I see Kwan and Morgan chatting amiably, heading for the mess hall. Michael trails behind them until a few other kids his age call him over to the sports field to join a game of football. I can’t believe I promised I would make an appearance at his party. I am wondering idly if he would notice if I wasn’t there, when Reed saunters up beside me.

“Look, Tiny, I . . .” I turn on him, expectantly, and he shrugs his broad shoulders.

“I know, okay, I know how hard this is for you, how badly you want to get him out, I get it. I care about him too but it would be a massacre. You can’t expect me to agree to lead our people to their slaughter.”

“We only need to subdue the soldiers along one stretch of fence; it’s obvious that’s where they are focused.” I am reaching and he knows it.

“They would call for help, Rebecca. We would be overwhelmed before we even reached the city centre, and can you even imagine how many soldiers there are in the city itself, considering how many are manning the fences? We would never make it to Chicago, let alone the Plaza.”

“That might not be entirely true,” David Riley interrupts suddenly from behind us. He is panting slightly. David may be Gifted with strength, but his fitness is still well below average. I make a mental note to get him into Kwan’s training programme as soon as possible.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking to Reed for an answer, but he simply shrugs again.

“I’ve been studying the Illinois blueprints,” David begins, and then, at our blank stares, “you guys know I was an engineer, right? For the Chicago city planning office?” I shake my head. “Aw, come on! I was planted by your father. I would still be there if I hadn’t been in the Unit Three camp visiting my kids when those soldiers arrived.”

I think back to the first time I met David when we were evacuating the Unit Three camp. I hadn’t paid much attention at the time, but I vaguely recall him and my dad poring over what looked like a bunch of maps. If he was working so closely with my father, it also explains where David got his ability of strength, although he told his wife he lost a poker bet.

“Get to the point, Specs,” Reed says, and David reddens slightly before addressing me directly.

“There’s an old underground freight system beneath the city, about 62 miles of tunnels and connections. They haven’t been used since before the war, but,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “there are connecting shafts into quite a few buildings, mainly business premises and hotels, and one is just a few blocks from the Dane Corp Plaza, in the Macy’s sub-basement.” He pauses, waiting for our reactions, but I am trying to get my head around this new information, and Reed is waiting for David to get to the point.

“Look, these tunnels are forty feet below street level. They’re the perfect place to hide, the ideal location to launch our attack!”

“How do we access the tunnels?”

David’s face falls slightly at my question. “The best place for us to get in is a shaft near the river.”

“Which river?” Reed demands, and David’s voice drops even lower.

“The Chicago River.”

“Chicago? So we have to be within the States for this master plan of yours to work? I don’t know if you’ve been listening, but the whole point is that we can’t get into NUSA, Sparky. Little problem called the heavily manned boundary fences . . . or did you miss that part?” Reed sounds exasperated.

“What about the Ottawa River?” David argues. “It’s only about five miles north-east of Toledo, and it crosses the Ohio-Michigan state line about a mile before it reaches Lake Erie.”

“The fences can’t cross the water,” I murmur, hope flaring in my chest, but, conscious of Reed watching my reaction, I force myself not to show it.

“See if you can get us in,” I order David, who nods immediately. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Rebecca, I . . .” Reed trails off, but before he can continue, I interrupt.

“Look, if you want to pull out, I understand. Things have got a whole lot more complicated, a lot has happened . . .” I can’t find the right words to express what I am feeling. Things are weird between us, they have been for a while.

“Are you questioning my allegiance to the Legion?” he raises his eyebrows, completely misunderstanding what I am trying to say.

“No,” I answer, “but this thing between you and me, I think we . . .”

“Seriously, Tiny, let’s not even go there,” he cuts across me, and then turns on his heel and walks away, leaving me mid-sentence. I fight the urge to stamp my foot in the dusty gravel.

“I don’t know how you keep your hands off that man,” a female voice croons behind me. I whirl around.

“Jenna! Alex!” I bend down and scoop up my son who has a rucksack thrown over his shoulder.

“I thought I’d pick him up from school for you. I figured you might run late. Elizabeth said to tell you she set him a few words for homework,” Jenna grins and I nod.

“Thanks.”

It’s strange to think that Jenna Larsen was my childhood nemesis, my rival for Aidan’s affections. Of course, Aidan had only created that illusion in my mind to tease my younger self. In reality there was never anything to worry about, but Jenna had certainly fancied him, even if the feeling was not reciprocated. Jenna had grown up in the same town as we had, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and we had attended the same school. When I had left to marry Eric, my father had insisted my adoptive family be protected and I had cut all ties with them. They had stayed within the States until Aidan had come onto Eric’s radar, after a heated discussion during which Aidan had let his temper get the better of him. My father had smuggled them all out into the Rebeldom; Aidan and Alex, Aidan’s father Jonathan, and my aunt Jessie, my mother’s sister. They had taken as many people with them as were willing to go, Jenna Larsen being one of them. She had stayed close to Aidan over the years and was very fond of my son Alex.

“Hey Mom! Can I go play?” My five-year-old son points at the older boys kicking a ball around.

“Sure, but just for a bit,” I call after him as he streaks towards the field before the words are even out of my mouth. I watch as he gives Michael a high-five.

“So, seriously, you haven’t even . . .” Jenna starts, still watching Reed’s departing figure.

“Don’t even go there,” I say, echoing Reed’s earlier words.

“Are you sure they didn’t give you super self-control, along with all those other abilities?” she asks, unable to tear her eyes from the glorious rear view.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Jenna turns back to face me, a mischievous grin on her elfin face. She looks ridiculously young; her white-blonde, short-cropped hair and her big blue eyes alive with excitement give the illusion of a naughty child. She really is tiny; around five-two, slim-built and bursting with enthusiasm.

“So, I hear you’re going to the party tomorrow?”

“Seriously? You heard that? Already?” I glance over in disbelief at Michael who is still playing football.

“Aw, come on, Becca, it’ll be fun! And I have the perfect outfit for you!”

Jenna amazes me. Whenever new clothes arrive, smuggled out of the States, she throws practicality to the wind and always grabs the most glitzy, girlie items from the pile. She hardly has any rivals for these, most of us dive straight for the jeans and cargo pants, vests, T-shirts and jackets. As far as shoes go, we prefer sneakers or combat boots, but I have seen three pairs of heels in Jenna’s room. Heels!

“Should I be afraid?” I ask cautiously.

“Very!” she laughs.

Twenty minutes later I look down at myself and shudder.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

“What? You look stunning!”

“I look ridiculous.” This must be the tiniest little black dress ever made. Strapless, and stopping at least three inches above my knees, it is skin tight. It’s not as though I don’t have the figure for it, but exposing such an enormous amount of bare flesh is hardly my scene. I fight the urge to cover myself with my hands.

“I can’t wear this,” I insist, trying to undo the zipper at the back.

“You can and you will!” Jenna orders, sounding a little like the General.

“I have to go, Jen, I’ve got homework to do, remember?” There’s an awkward pause, and I turn around to see her standing with her hands on her hips. I know that look. My friend is digging in her three-inch heels. Heaving a sigh, I concede defeat.

“If I promise to wear the dress, can I go now?” It’s not as if I am going to see anyone other than a group of raucous teenagers, after all.

Jenna grins, clapping her hands in delight.

“See you tomorrow!”

I fetch Alex from the playground and we go home. We have a small, cosy house near The Strip, just a few doors down from Jenna. Space is not a huge problem for our people. There are only about two thousand of us living in a city that accommodated over five hundred thousand before World War Three, not to mention the rest of the Valley. We have, however, condemned a lot of the buildings that are in need of maintenance.

I make Alex some lunch and he finishes his set work, his pencil smudging the page with his efforts. I am happy to sit and watch him. I have missed out on so much of his life and I will never be able to make that time up, but I am determined to spend as much time as possible with him now. He still has nightmares. He has been having them since Aidan died. Telling Alex about his father’s death was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. He screamed, lashing out at me physically, and just when I thought I could not take another minute of it, he collapsed in my arms, his little body racked with sobs. It had taken weeks for him to come out of his shell again, much thanks to Michael, who is Alex’s hero. Children are very resilient. They bounce back. I wish it was as easy for adults.

I do the few dishes and then I call on Sally next door. Sally is fifteen, a shy, freckled girl, who watches Alex for me when I need her to. I kiss Alex goodbye and leave for the 24-hour fitness building on South Eastern Avenue that we use as a training centre. One of the larger training rooms is now Kwan Lee’s dojo.

“Sorry I’m late,” I call as I come through the doors.

“Not that we’re surprised,” I hear Morgan’s sarcastic comment and I frown in consternation. What’s with her lately? Choosing to ignore her, I return Kwan’s smile and nod at Reed who is lounging against the far wall.

“So you’ll definitely be there tomorrow, right?” Michael hollers across the room.

“I’ll be there, Michael,” I answer resignedly and he fist punches the air.

We get started. Kwan has been my mentor and trainer for almost four years. The forty-year-old Korean is lethal, even without his Gift of speed. He has spent years mastering the art of Taekwondo and is the ultimate warrior. He has trained Morgan too and, more recently, Michael. Reed doesn’t really take instruction, but he does join us from time to time, I think partly because he is bored, and partly because he misses the action of battle.

“Right, let’s get started. Morgan, Michael, you’re up,” Kwan calls, and the siblings walk to the middle of the room. The instant they start sparring, I turn to Kwan.

“How are you doing?” I haven’t seen much of him lately, he has been so busy training our soldiers.

“Good, thanks,” he answers, then walks over to stand closer to the Kellys so that he can instruct them without having to shout.

While being Gifted can turn any ordinary man into a deadly weapon, the Gift is still subject to natural law. If two people are both Gifted with the ability of strength, for example, the naturally stronger of the two will still be stronger, but on an entirely new level. Martial arts, speed and endurance training are imperative to give our soldiers an edge. Michael Kelly, Gifted with speed, and his sister, Morgan, who has strength, are a dynamic duo and they work well as a team. Sparring against each other, however, they are pitiful because, as siblings, their natural protective instincts prevent them from really trying. Kwan, sensing this, calls their practice to a halt within a few minutes.

“Reed,” he calls, and Reed looks up.

“Get in here,” Kwan instructs. “Morgan, you can sit down.”

Morgan stalks past Reed and sits down a few yards away from me on the wooden floor.

“How have you been, Morgan?” I ask, keeping one eye on Reed and Michael, who have taken up their positions.

“I’m fine,” she answers, and then, reluctantly, “how’s Alex after everything?”

“He’s doing okay, thanks.” Aidan, it always comes back to Aidan. I turn my attention to the two men in the centre of the room.

It is almost comical watching Michael trying to get the better of Reed who retaliates mildly, as though Michael is nothing but an irksome fly. To be fair, there is really no competition. Reed and I cannot be beaten in a one-on-one fight. No Gifted soldier can defeat us, not even one with years of training like Kwan. As the only two people with all three abilities, we are stronger and faster than any other super-soldier, regardless of training or natural law, although we are not sure why this is.

I have to give Michael points for effort. Even knowing he cannot win doesn’t stop him from trying. By the time he has landed on his back three times he concedes defeat, and Reed saunters back to the wall. Not to be deterred, the wily youngster launches himself at Reed’s back, trying to use the element of surprise. In less than two seconds, Michael is once again prostrate, Reed laughing above him, pinning him down until he yells “Uncle!” Even the more reserved Kwan is smiling and so is Morgan.

The light moment doesn’t last long. Kwan calls Morgan back and faces her himself. I am a little surprised that he hasn’t called on me, as Kwan usually uses these opportunities to observe Morgan’s progress, but the thought is fleeting as I realise just how much Morgan has improved. She attacks and doesn’t stop attacking. She reminds me of Nina Lee, Kwan’s wife, who I fought and killed in Chicago. Nina had been a worthy adversary – she had possessed all of my own abilities and she was exceptionally well trained. Morgan, although lacking Nina’s exceptional skills, has the same style and the same steadfast determination. After a long and heated struggle, Kwan eventually overcomes Morgan to win the spar, but I notice he seems to be favouring his left side as he makes his way back to us. Morgan’s incredible strength probably hurts like hell.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Kwan calls, and I blink in surprise. Before I can answer, Reed’s steady drawl comes across the room.

“Rebecca hasn’t practised.”

There is an awkward pause and then Reed stirs himself and dusts his hands off on his jeans.

“Guess it’s you and me, Sexy Bex,” he winks, “although we both know how this ends.”

I grin, my adrenalin kicking in in anticipation of the fight and I feel the blood rushing through my veins.

“Game on, Cowboy.”

I catch a punishing blow to the stomach and I feel the wind knocked out of me. I feint to the left and, as Reed’s right arm comes thundering towards my face with the force of a small freight train, I grab his wrist and use his body weight against him, turning my own body and throwing out my right leg, tripping him as he rushes forward. His body slides a few yards across the clean floor and I hop from leg to leg, clicking my neck first left, then right.

“While you’re down there,” I tease, and then offer him my hand to pull him to his feet. Too late, I see the wicked gleam in his green eyes, and he yanks me forward, over his head. I curl myself into a ball at the last minute and roll over him, landing painfully on my back, our heads so close they are almost touching. I hear Michael laughing from the sidelines and I grin, before flicking my legs up and under me and jumping to my feet.

“Had enough yet, Tiny?” Reed gets up far less gracefully.

“Not a chance!”

I jump up and spin, my leg flying towards his neck in a roundhouse kick, but he ducks, and my foot whizzes over his head. Not giving him any time to recover, I kick up with the same leg, and he only just bends backwards in time, so that I miss his chin by an inch.

“Hey, watch the face!” he says, grabbing my right leg as it comes back around and holding it firmly. I cannot shake him loose and I am forced to hop forward as he takes two large steps back. I can’t move, and he knows it. He takes another step backward and I have no choice but to hop forward or lose my balance. I flush and his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Say Uncle.”

“What?” I hear Michael hoot with laughter.

“Say it,” he cocks his head to the side and takes another step back.

“I can do this all day.”

I cannot possibly say it, he’ll never let me live it down.

“Reed, I . . .”

“No, no, no, Tiny,” he shakes his head, “no sweet talking your way out of this one. Now say Uncle.”

I heave a sigh, and then, before I can over think it, I push off the ground with my left leg as hard as I can, and kick out with the leg that he is holding. My left leg finds purchase on his chest and I launch off him as hard as I can, knowing that if this doesn’t work things are going to end very badly. And by badly, I mean painfully. Luckily, Reed is so shocked that he releases his hold on my leg, and my body arcs back and over, doing a full somersault before I land back on both my feet. I lunge forward, bending my arm at the elbow and shoving it against his neck. An instant later he is flat on his back, my arm restricting his windpipe. He rolls his eyes as Kwan and Michael’s laughter echoes around the room.

“Now, what do you say?” I prompt.

Chapter 3

The next morning I drop Alex at school.

“Rebecca, hi!” Elizabeth greets me at the door of the classroom, her long red hair pulled back in a neat braid. Elizabeth and Veronica were both with me at the Ohio camp; they were not fighters, but they helped with cooking and keeping the place clean. My father set Elizabeth up teaching in the Nevada school after we had smuggled her out of the States. She had been Gifted against her will with the ability of speed, although she has no interest in using it and will not train, not even to be able to defend herself. She is a peaceful soul and a fantastic teacher. She also has a massive crush on Reed, although she is blissfully unaware how obvious it is.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Elizabeth begins shyly, “about Alex.”

“What about Alex?”

“He’s been using his abilities at school.”

“What?”

“I don’t think it’s intentional,” she is quick to reassure me, “but he’s been using his speed at races, that kind of thing. It’s hard for him to control himself; children are very competitive and we always tell them to try their best. Unfortunately, Alex’s best is not exactly something the other kids can compete with and some of the other boys have been reacting.”

“Reacting how?” I ask, although I already suspect what is going on.

“They’ve been teasing him; calling him names, calling him a freak, that sort of thing. I am trying to stop it, but it’s very difficult to keep an eye on them all the time. Anyway,” she smooths down her skirt, “my concern is more that Alex might start to retaliate. With his strength he could really hurt somebody. I thought maybe you could talk to him, before it gets that far?”

I know exactly what is worrying her. Alex, the only child born to a mother who has been Gifted with all three abilities, has inherited my speed and strength. He is a prodigy, a natural phenomenon. My father was researching how this could happen, but he had not yet come up with any answers, other than the fact that Alex’s abilities are genetic. He simply inherited them from me, as he inherited his brown eyes from Aidan. Whether this is a result of the fact that I have been Gifted with all three abilities, or whether it is simply evolution, we have yet to establish. We have kept an eye on some of the other children in the Rebeldom whose parents have been Gifted, but none of them show any signs of having inherited their parents’ talents. I still think it has something to do with the Power of Three, which is my own interpretation of why Reed and I have such exceptional Gifts.

“I’ll talk to him,” I assure Beth, who smiles timidly and walks back into the noisy classroom.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“What are best friends for, Becca? I couldn’t let you miss all this eye-candy!”

“They’re seventeen!” I splutter and Jenna laughs gaily.

“Not all of them. I’ve seen some of Mikey’s football friends – yum!”

She looks gorgeous in a dark blue dress that falls to her feet, which would be quite demure for Jenna, if the slit up the side didn’t start at her hip, exposing her entire right thigh. At least she has killer legs. In her unbelievably high heels, she is even taller than I am.

“I can’t believe you’re not wearing heels,” she eyes my feet disdainfully and I laugh. I’m wearing a pair of flat black sandals.

“I can’t, Jen, I’d fall flat on my face!” Of course this is not entirely true. I spent three years as the First Lady – walking in heels was part of the job. I don’t want to say it out loud, but fancy clothes and high heels are a reminder of the life that I left behind – a life I don’t want ever to live again. I think Jen understands, because she regards me steadily for a long moment, before a small, knowing smile lifts the corners of her mouth.

“That, I could deal with,” she mumbles, deliberately mussing up her hair.

We enter the hall which used to be a supper theatre in one of the old casinos. The room is full of teenagers, many of whom have tried to dress up, and I smile fondly, thinking for the first time that this might actually be a great idea. The kids living out here in the barren lands have no semblance of an ordinary life. It is hard work all the time and to see them enjoying themselves, having a party and being typical teenagers, removes any reservations I had about coming. A few of Michael’s school friends who play musical instruments have set up a bandstand in the corner, and there are a few mismatched candles burning around the room, but other than that there is very little in the way of decor. The Rebeldom is not exactly teeming with non-essentials, and party decorations fall very low on our priority list. There are huge bowls of punch on every available surface, and I briefly wonder how much work Michael has promised to do in exchange for so much of our drinks supply.

“Rebecca, hey!” Michael materialises in front of me, looking quite dashing in a pair of long black pants and a black T-shirt. “You came!”

“I said I would!” I laugh. “Awesome party, Michael.”

“Thanks! Can I get you something to drink?” Is it my imagination, or does it look like he’s half hoping I’ll say no?

“Sure.”

The music, when it gets going, is quite festive, and Jenna sashays off to dance. I smile after her as I lean against a wall in a darkened corner. I am wondering if my afternoon chat with Alex will have any effect. Aidan would have known exactly what to say, he knew Alex better than anyone.

“You know they’ve spiked the punch, right?” The husky drawl right in my ear makes me jump.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, suddenly feeling ridiculous in my tiny scrap of black cloth.

“I was invited,” Reed points out obviously, as I surreptitiously give my dress a tug upwards, which accomplishes nothing except to raise it even higher up my legs.

“You’re in my seat,” he teases, sensing my discomfort and making fun of the fact that I am standing in his usual position.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise this stretch of wall was reserved.” I roll my eyes.

“That’s a very nice dress.” His gaze wanders up and down my body appreciatively.

Michael returns with a huge glass of punch and hands it to me nervously. He waits for me to take a sip, watching my reaction like a hawk. Talk about packing a punch, it’s so strong that my eyes water, and Reed chuckles beside me. Michael is holding his breath, not sure whether he is in trouble or not. I smack my lips appreciatively.

“Divine!” I announce and Michael’s whole body relaxes in relief.

“Thanks.” He rushes off, disappearing into the throng of young bodies on the dance floor.

“Nice of you,” Reed remarks and I frown at him.

“I’m not a killjoy,” I snap.

“Yeah well, lately you’ve been a bit wearisome.” He raises his own glass to me and then turns and walks away.

“Hey, wait a minute!” I catch him halfway across the dance floor. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I yell, and a few people turn to stare at us.

Reed raises his eyebrows.

“Seriously? You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Tiny, maybe that you’re being a royal pain in the ass?”

“Me?” I hiss incredulously. “Me? That’s rich! What about Morgan, who won’t so much as say two words to me? What about Kwan, who will barely look me in the eye?”

“Oh, poor Rebecca, is everyone being mean to you?”

“Don’t patronise me, you son of a bitch!”

My voice rings out as there is a lull in the music and a large crowd around us comes to a standstill, regarding us curiously.

Reed takes a deep breath and visibly pulls himself together. He takes my hands and pulls me into his arms, moving slowly in time to the music that has thankfully started up again.

“Oh, so we’re dancing now?” I ask, trying to ignore how my body reacts to being this close to him.

“Look, Tiny,” he looks down at me as though trying to find the right words. When he does speak, his voice is much softer, so that nobody else can hear us. “Morgan lost Rellis in that battle, remember? She’s young, and she doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions. She tries to be this strong, unshakeable woman, but she’s just a girl. And she loved him. Try to remember that. Keep in mind that she can’t stop crying when she thinks no one is looking.”

“How do you know that?”

“I pay attention.”

“And I don’t?”

“Not at the moment, no,” he answers truthfully. I don’t answer, trying to think about what he is saying before reacting.

“And Kwan?” I ask eventually.

“Kwan lost his wife,” he states the obvious. I killed Eric’s prized soldier, Nina Lee, in self-defence. She had abandoned Kwan, letting him believe her dead, to work for Eric.

“But she left him. She tried to kill us,” I justify.

“She was still his wife.”

“Does he blame me?” I ask in a small voice.

“Why don’t you ask him? I’m not your go-between.”

I’m about to ask him what I should do about Morgan when a youthful male voice pipes up, “Can I cut in?”

Just for a moment, Reed’s hand tightens possessively around my waist, and then he grins at the newcomer, an older friend of Michael’s. Joey is about twenty-one years old, a big, brawny young man Gifted with the ability of strength. He had been on Eric’s list of suspected Gifted civilians and we had extricated him from the States along with a few others, just weeks before the final battle. He is now in Kwan’s training programme and is a newly inducted member of the Legion.

“Sure, Joey.” Reed releases me and walks away and is soon swallowed up in the crowd.

I smile at Joey, who looks delighted, and then instantly disappointed as the music changes tempo again, far more upbeat than before. We dance for a while and then Jenna joins us, holding out another glass of punch for me. I swallow it down, enjoying the burn as it makes its way down my throat and into my stomach. Joey has a serious case of the grab-hands, and he finds a way to touch me at every given opportunity.

Three glasses of punch later I am feeling more than a little tipsy, and I decide to find myself a seat to catch my breath. As I turn, I trip over my own feet and Joey catches me as I fall.

“My hero!” I giggle, squinting up at him, and then his mouth comes down on mine.

I do not have even a moment to react, and I hear Jenna’s sharp intake of breath when Joey is hauled off me. I clap my hand to my mouth and step between Reed and the younger man, before any more damage can be done.

Joey pulls himself up off the floor where he landed and takes a step towards Reed, his hands balling into fists at his side. Reed stands quite calmly, open palms at his sides.

“Easy, Tiger,” I warn, putting out an arm to restrain Joey, whose expression makes it clear that this is far from over.

“Get out of my way!” he snarls, and I realise that if he is drunk enough to be so disrespectful to me – his commanding officer – then the situation could escalate badly.

“Go and cool off,” I instruct firmly as Michael appears, Morgan just a step behind him. The only thing bruised is Joey’s ego, and I’m desperately hoping that this will be the end of it. Michael grabs Joey’s arm and tries to pull him out of the throng, but Joey jerks his arm away, knocking Michael into the guests around us. This is too much for Morgan who launches herself at Joey and knocks him back to the floor. Joey, in his drunken state, doesn’t seem to know who has attacked him and his fist slams up into Morgan’s jaw. This is entirely unacceptable. One of the first things our cadets are taught is that it is forbidden to use their Gifts against any member of our community.

“Joey, dude!” Michael’s outraged voice comes from a short distance away.

“Enough,” Reed flies past me, lifts Morgan off Joey and deposits her gently on the floor beside him. Then he hauls Joey to his feet, grabs him by his shirt collar and, holding his body down so that his back is bent at an almost ninety-degree angle to his legs, he frog-marches him outside. I turn to check that Morgan is okay.

“Don’t touch me!” she hisses and, heaving a sigh, I turn to Michael.

“I’m fine,” he insists.

“Get back to your party.” I try to make light of the situation and then I walk towards the door that Reed and Joey just disappeared through.

“I didn’t realise it was her!” I hear Joey’s protestations and I follow his voice to a nearby administration office. “I didn’t know it was Morgan!”

As I shove open the door Joey pushes past me, heading in the opposite direction. He spares me a scowl of dislike, and then saunters off back in the direction of the party. I close the door behind me and lean back against it, closing my eyes. Now that the adrenalin has worn off, I am once again feeling the effects of the alcohol.

“You see, I should have banned the booze and then we wouldn’t have had this problem,” I comment drily. I open my eyes in shock as Reed’s voice cuts through the air.

“No, Rebecca, what you should have been doing is not getting drunk and flirting with Michael’s friends to begin with.”

“What?” I stammer, taken aback by the anger in his voice.

“You caused a scene.”

“I did not!”

“Yeah, you did.” He stalks up to me and, ignoring the fact that I am leaning against it, he yanks the door open. I almost topple over and I grab his arm to steady myself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tiny.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” I slam the door back shut and glare at him. “What the hell is going on? Why are you all so angry with me?”

“I told you! Morgan and Kwan both lost people, people they loved!”

“Fine! That explains them. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Why are you so pissed at me? And don’t tell me that it has anything to do with what just happened in there,” I warn.

There is a deafening silence for the longest time and then he shrugs his broad shoulders.

“You’re supposed to be our leader. You’re the one who is supposed to make decisions, tell us what to do. In case you forgot, in the last four months of self-absorption, we are still at war.”

“The last four months of what?” I fume.

“You heard me. You’ve done nothing since we got back, nothing, except mope around and play house with Alex. Oh, and whine about your father being missing. Good God, Rebecca, you’ve let the General take charge! Of your army! Don’t you think that’s a little stupid? Am I the only one who thinks it’s strange that he’s still here?”

“Wha . . . what?” I am so surprised by his last comment that I forget the rest of what he has said.

“Think about it! Why would your dad and the Vice-President go into the States alone with no bodyguards? Why did Smith and Wakeford stay behind with the General? Why did the General stay behind at all?” I open my mouth to reply, but I have no answer. Now that I think about it, it doesn’t make any sense.

“You think the General had something to do with . . .” No, that’s not possible.

“I don’t know what I think, Tiny, but at least I’m thinking. Not just feeling sorry for myself.”

“I lost someone too, okay! I lost Aidan!” I scream, fuelled with anger at his lack of sympathy. “You say Kwan and Morgan lost people important to them, well what about me? I have no one!”

“You have me!” he roars, louder and angrier than I have ever seen him, and I recoil automatically, trying to escape his fury.

He takes a few steps forward until we are practically touching and grabs me by the shoulders.

“I’m standing right here!” He shakes me like a rag doll. “You act as though I don’t exist, as though I don’t matter! As though nobody matters, except Aidan. You’ve put him on such a pedestal, the rest of us don’t have a hope of living up to his legacy!”

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

“Why not? I tried to save him and God knows I’m sorry that I failed, that it was him and not me. We both know that me living and him dying was not what you would’ve chosen! And I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way but I’m here, living and breathing and sick and tired of watching you feel sorry for yourself!”

His chest is heaving and I flinch as he raises his hand. He narrows his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Rebecca.” He takes my hand and holds it in his own and then raises it to his chest, placing my hand over his heart and his own on top of it. “I know you lost the most important person in your life, I do. You’ll never get over him, I know that. Believe me, I know . . .” he trails off, temporarily distracted. “But I’m still here,” he stresses the ‘I’. “I’ve never left your side, not since the day we met. But you’ve left me. You’ve left us. All of us.”

I am mesmerised by the reproach in his startling green eyes and, for the first time, I realise that I may just be the problem. I have withdrawn. I haven’t wanted to face what my life is now, the fact that Aidan really is gone and I need to move on. I haven’t considered anything else. It has been four months since the final battle and we have done nothing, learned nothing.

Aidan wouldn’t have wanted this. Jonathan and my mother – they would’ve given me a stern talking to. Reed is right, I have become so self-absorbed that I haven’t even spared a thought for how the people around me are feeling.

“It’s time to move on,” Reed’s voice interrupts my reverie. “You need to focus on what’s important. A better life for Alex. He can still have that. We can still do what we set out to do. If we don’t, they will have died for nothing.” Without another word he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, the door closing behind him with a gentle click.

Chapter 4

“Eight o’clock, why so early?” I hear Morgan grumbling as the doors open the next morning.

I have been in the Gold Room for almost an hour already, preparing. Michael, looking bleary-eyed, spots me first.

“Hey, Rebecca,” he calls, but without his usual good spirits. “I’m sorry about last night. Joey is a jerk. He can’t handle his alcohol.” He lowers his voice at the last, so that only I can hear. As if it isn’t already common knowledge that Michael’s birthday punch was anything but virgin.

“Joey’s cool,” I reassure him. “It was a crazy night, Michael, don’t worry about it.”

He grins with relief and sits down at the table with Morgan.

“Morgan,” I walk up to her and she glares up at me, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “I want you to know that I’m truly sorry about what happened to Bobby,” I say, and her eyes widen in surprise. Just for a moment I see the vulnerability and pain beneath the bravado and then her face hardens once again and she nods briskly. I don’t think she could speak even if she wanted to.

“What’s this all about, Miss Davis?” the General barks as he comes through the door, followed closely by Smith and Wakeford, and more leisurely by David and Kwan. “Why in the blazes have you got us all up so early? What’s the emergency?”

Reed follows a few steps behind them and right behind him, her face magenta for being the last to arrive, is Veronica. I wait until everyone is seated and then I stand up and take a deep breath.

“I’ve made a decision,” I address them confidently, and then I dive straight in. “We’re going to blow up the NUSA laboratory.”

There is a stunned silence followed by the General’s harsh laughter echoing around the vast room.

“Preposterous! Miss Davis, if this is another devious ploy to search for your father . . .”

“On the contrary, General, my father has nothing to do with it.”

“Well then, why the sudden interest in the lab?”

“Or the sudden interest in anything?” Morgan adds, spitefully. I ignore her.

“You said it yourself, General, the NUSA soldiers are growing in number. We won’t stand a chance if they keep increasing their forces the way they have been. The only solution is to destroy the lab, to make it impossible for them to create any more soldiers.”

“We still can’t beat them,” Kwan intercedes, but I can see that he’s intrigued. “We still won’t have the numbers.”

“That’s where you come in, sir,” I address the General. “You get to create new soldiers of our own.”

The collective intake of breath around the table is hardly surprising, but I have thought this through. We have already lost so many people to this war, and without the numbers we will not only lose many more, we will lose, period. One way or another there will be casualties, but at least this way it may just be worth it – we may have a chance at winning. I can sense the slight change in atmosphere, although nobody is saying anything. There is an excitement mounting among the council members that I haven’t seen for some time.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” the General sounds thoughtful and he is regarding me intently.

“Why did you send my father and Mr Williams into the States alone, unprotected?” I counter, and the abrupt change of subject has him temporarily stymied.

“I beg your pardon?”

“After the battle, when they entered the States to speak to the people, why did you send them in alone? Why didn’t you accompany them? And why did they not have any security? You never travel without guards, why did they?” I let the question hang in the air. I am in dangerous territory, falling just short of an outright accusation.

“I don’t like your tone, Miss Davis,” the General warns.

“I don’t really care, General. Answer the question.”

At this, Smith and Wakeford rise to their feet, and Kwan, Reed and Michael do the same only seconds later. Then David stands, uncertainly. I am not sure he even knows which side he is representing. Only Veronica and Morgan remain seated, Veronica staring deliberately at the table, Morgan looking bored.

“Sit down!” the General thunders at his two guards, and they sit down immediately. To my surprise, David remains standing along with the others. I nod at him, Reed, Kwan and Michael, and they all slowly settle back into their chairs.

“For your information, Miss Davis, I did try to send guards along with your father and Kenneth. They rejected them. They opted to go alone,” the General informs me haughtily.

“Why would they do that?” This sounds like an excuse. Why would they possibly refuse any guards when there were so many at their disposal? Why would they take the risk? I don’t believe the General for a second, but short of blatantly accusing him of lying there is nothing more I can do.

“I have absolutely no idea,” the General manages to sound sincerely resigned and regretful.

“How soon do you think you can start the procedures?” I change the subject again.

“Within the hour.” The answer is unexpected. He shrugs. “We’ve been ready for months, Miss Davis. The only thing stopping us was you.”

There are volunteers on standby, I learn. They have been preselected, and have gone through rigorous screening, their natural abilities assessed in order to make sure that the Gifts are maximised. They are mostly men between the ages of eighteen and forty, all in excellent health. The General produces a list of potential candidates and I briefly run my eye down the list, recognising a name here and there. There are over two hundred names, a tenth of our entire population. Swallowing down my desire to rip the paper apart, I hand it back to him.

“I’ll leave it to you.” He nods grimly, stowing the papers back in his folder and then he clasps his hands in front of him.

“How exactly do you plan on blowing up the lab? The States are inaccessible, or have you forgotten?”

“David?” I turn to the bespectacled man further up the table. Flustered, he stands, knocking one of his blueprints to the ground. Reed catches my eye and gives a ghost of a wink, and my spirits soar. I never realised how much his support and approval meant until last night, when I thought I might have lost him.

David spends about ten minutes outlining the plan to access the city through the underground tunnels. He is fairly confident it will work, as long as there has not been any major structural damage or cave-ins which could block our way.

“What about your father?” the General asks after we have formulated a basic plan, which will be expanded at a later stage and possibly adapted, once we have successfully gained access to the Capital.

“What about him?”

“He’s probably based at that lab. What if you don’t find him?”

“Then we don’t find him.”

“It’s not that easy, Miss Davis. We all know,” he gestures expansively at the people sitting around the table, “how you struggle to remain focused when it’s someone that you care about whose life is at stake.” I bite my lip, knowing exactly what he is implying.

“I will blow up that lab, General, whether we find my father or not. It’s what he would want,” I add, blinking back the tears pricking at my eyes. “I will not fail the Legion again.”

Everyone shuffles out but Reed and I remain seated and I rest my head wearily on my arms.

“You okay?”

“Fine, Cowboy, just dandy.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Are you now?” I raise my head to find him contemplating me thoughtfully.

“I am.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” I ask, knowing he will give me an honest answer.

“Then at least we’ve tried.”

He pushes back his chair and stands up, stretching his arms like a cat. He is like a lion, all tawny and big and brave. I get to my feet and go around the table to stand in front of him.

“You need a haircut.” I push back a dark blond strand of hair covering his eye.

“Always do,” he drawls nonchalantly, but I can tell he is not as certain of himself at this moment as he is pretending to be.

“Reed, what you said last night, I . . .”

“Forget it. I had far too much punch. And the kid pissed me off. Why should he get to kiss you, when I’ve got to be all noble and take the moral high ground?” He is joking, but there is obviously some truth in his words.

“So that’s what you’re doing?” I ask, moving closer to him. I can feel the heat of his body. Reed always smells of soap and raw animal masculinity. He could patent his own pheromone and sell it by the bottle. “You’re being noble?”

“Don’t tempt me, Sexy Bex, I’m only human.”

“You were right,” I begin, “Aidan’s gone. He’s not coming back.” I take a deep breath, “I don’t want you to underestimate how much you mean to me.”

“How much do I mean to you?” Oh that sexy, Southern, husky drawl. I could lose myself in his voice.

“More than I think you realise.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but that’s all it takes. I close my eyes as his arms come around me and I melt against him, rubbing my cheek against his hard chest, trailing my fingers up his arms and over his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles contracting under my touch.

Before my guilt has time to rear its ugly head, I tilt my face up to his, and when our lips touch, it’s just like before, heat and warmth and wanton abandon. His hands cup my face and he turns my head to the side so that the kiss becomes even deeper. I can feel every ounce of his self-control radiating off him, and I lose myself, knowing that he will not take advantage of the situation. Eventually he pulls back, kisses my nose and then pulls me against him, his chin resting on my head.

“Ah, Tiny, what am I going to do with you?” he murmurs into my hair, and then he lets me go.

My legs feel weak, and I surreptitiously grab the nearest chair for support.

Reed suddenly turns serious. “I’ll find Jeffrey.”

“What?” I’m still trying to bring my breathing under control and I don’t follow.

“I’ll find your father. When we get to the lab. You just worry about blowing things up. I’ll get your dad out, I promise.”

Chapter 5

I leave the Gold Room a few minutes after Reed, needing a moment to gather my thoughts. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, at least as far as he is concerned. I know I am playing with fire. Reed is a complex man and his feelings for me are very real. So are mine, but will I ever get over Aidan? Kwan once told me that life is precious; that we need to live it fully. I am attracted to Reed physically, of that there is no question, but could I love him? The way that I loved Aidan? I’m not sure. But Aidan is gone and Reed is here, and he makes me feel good about myself. He makes me a better person. I never feel more alive than when I am with him.

“Rebecca!” As I emerge into the sunshine, Michael’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Elizabeth asked me to find you, they need you at the school.” Alex! I sprint towards the other side of town, all thoughts of Reed gone in my panic. I screech to a halt at the school, and Elizabeth rushes out to meet me.

“Alex!” I gasp. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, Rebecca!” She places a reassuring hand on my arm. “He’s fine, calm down. There’s just something you need to know.” She ushers me back into the school building and as we make our way towards her office, away from the classroom, she explains.

“Alex got into a scuffle with one of the boys in class.” I stop dead in the middle of the hallway and she hastens to add, “It was nothing serious. I’ve expected something like this for a while now. Anyway, the other boy pushed him and he fell against some old piping. I’ve been asking them to move it for a while; it shouldn’t be on the school grounds, but they left it behind when they were doing some maintenance work on the old prefabs.” I raise my eyebrows questioningly and she quickly gets back to the point. “Anyway, Alex cut his knee pretty badly.” She opens the office door and I see Alex slumped on one of the wooden chairs facing her desk.

“Alex!” I rush forward and kneel in front of him, examining his knees.

“But there’s no . . .”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Elizabeth says, as I search for an injury that is no longer there. “His healing has manifested.”

We had suspected for some time that Alex would possess all three abilities. His strength had manifested first when he was three years old, and his speed had followed only a few months ago. Aidan had been there to explain to him, to help him understand, and since I came back into his life, I have tried to do the same.

“You understand what’s happened?” I ask him now, looking into his warm brown eyes. He nods and I take his small hands in my own. “Remember what I told you?” Another nod. “You have to be careful; you’re not invincible.”

“I’m just like you now, Mom,” he says, and I pull him into my arms.

‘Yes, baby, you’re just like me.”

Reed arrives at my place as we get home, having heard the news from Michael. I settle Alex down with some paper and crayons and incline my head in the direction of the kitchen, where I set about making us coffee. Well, I make myself coffee, Reed declines his usual sweet tea and takes up his typical stance, leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

“How’s he taking it?”

“He’s okay, actually, he’s quite excited; thinks he’s some sort of superman.”

Reed laughs, then, lowering his voice, he turns serious. “So, what do you make of the General’s excuse?”

“It was feeble,” I answer.

“Yeah, it was. I don’t trust him.”

“Nor do I, but what choice do we have? If he’s working with NUSA, why would he want to create new Legion soldiers? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Do you think Dane got to him?”

“I don’t know.” I pause as a thought occurs to me. “Eric didn’t know about my abilities, he only found out that night at the dojo. If he had been working with the General, he would have known, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Eric knew something. He was suspicious for a while, acting up, questioning my alibis. That was the main reason I wanted to get the Kellys out of the States in the first place.”

“So you think he had inside information?” he asks, and I shake my head, perplexed.

“I honestly don’t know.”

There is a lull in conversation as we both consider the possibility that the General could be working against us. It still doesn’t add up. If he was, Eric would have known about my abilities.

“We have to find Adam Vincent.” I am thinking aloud.

“Why?”

“I think Eric may have been trying to tell me something after all.”

“The same Eric who murdered innocent people? The one who tried to kill us?”

I smile at him. “The same one.”

“I thought we were working on the he-was-trying-to-save-his-own-skin principle.”

“We were, but something doesn’t feel right. You know, Nina could have killed me, she had me against a wall and there was nothing I could’ve done.”

His knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the counter top behind him. “But you did do something. You killed her.”

“Yes, but only because Eric distracted her.”

“He what?”

I hadn’t really given it much thought before but in the last moments, just seconds away from Nina landing the final, fatal blow, Eric had yelled, diverting her attention from me for just a second, which was all I needed. His distraction had saved my life and had cost Nina hers.

“Tiny?”

“Sorry, I was thinking. I’m not sure of course, but I think Eric might have been trying to save my life.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I have no idea.” I ponder this for a moment, but I come up blank. Why would Eric try to save me? I set my mug down on the table and change the subject. There’s no point trying to figure out what Eric was thinking. He is gone. I made sure of that.

“We’ll leave for Dodge City on Thursday,” I say, and Reed nods. Four days is more than enough time for us to pack and plan. We have decided to head for our camp in Dodge City, Kansas, and from there we will make our way back to Toledo, Ohio. The Toledo Camp is only 500 miles from the Chicago capital, and is the closest base from which to launch our attack. We are taking a risk in going back, the camp may have been compromised after the final battle, but it’s a chance we have to take if we are going to blow up the NUSA lab.

“What about Alex?”

“He’s going to stay with Jenna,” I answer, my heart sinking. I hate leaving Alex, particularly now that I am all that he’s got left.

“Not Jessie?” Reed teases and I smile, despite my sombre mood.

“Alex is far more responsible than Jessie.” I adore my Aunt Jessie, but she is a complete lush. The only time I ever see her sober is if I visit before breakfast, although God only knows where she gets her stock.

“Yeah, marginally,” he agrees as he walks down the passage to the lounge where Alex is still colouring.

“Hey Alex, you wanna play Pick-up-Sticks?” He sits down on the carpet next to my son.

“Yeah!” Alex grabs the box off the bookshelf. “You wanna play, Mom?”

“No thanks, boy.” I smile, and the two settle down to play. I lie down on the sofa, content just to watch. Reed has spent a lot of time with Alex since we got back. He lost his own father very young, and my dad, Jeffrey, took him under his wing. This is his way of paying it forward, I guess. Whatever his reasons, I am grateful to him for the major role he plays in our lives. Listening to Alex’s cries of “It moved!” and Reed’s vehement denial, which even I don’t believe, I close my eyes and within minutes I fall asleep.

I wake a few hours later and stretch lazily. The room is dark, the only light coming from the fireplace which wasn’t lit when I fell asleep.

“Hey.” I turn to see Reed lying opposite me, on the other couch, playing with a faded Rubik’s cube.

“Where’s Alex?” I ask, my mouth dry.

“Sleeping. I took him to his room.” I prop myself up on my elbows, squinting across at him.

“You’ll ruin your eyes, you know,” I admonish.

“Yes, Mom,” I hear the chuckle and I smile in the dark.

“Do you want something to eat? I made some sandwiches.” He gestures at the table on which is a plate of what looks like curling jam sandwiches.

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” I remark drily, and he laughs, throwing the Rubik’s cube aside and regarding me steadily.

“Don’t knock ’em till you’ve tried ’em, Tiny.” Pretending to be summoning up my courage, I pick one up and take a tiny bite.

“Mmm, delicious!”

He launches himself across the room in a blur and grabs me, ignoring my shriek of protest and pins me down on the sofa.

Laughing, I try to escape his grip, but it’s no use, he is stronger than I am.

Grabbing another sandwich, he shoves it under my nose.

“You need to keep up your strength, Sexy Bex. I think you should eat up.” He crams the sandwich against my closed mouth and I turn my head left and right, holding my breath.

“I took a lot of trouble making these,” he says, trying in vain to shove it into my mouth, and eventually he gives up. He holds up the messy remains and shakes his head dolefully.

“What a waste.” He tosses it back on the plate and grins down at me. I am lying along the sofa and he is sitting beside me, my legs slung over his, his arm resting along the back of the sofa.

Slowly, his smile fades and his expression turns thoughtful, as though he is considering something.

I know exactly what he’s contemplating, and without any hesitation, I lift my arms and bring his head down to meet mine.

He is momentarily astonished that I have initiated the kiss but, being Reed, he recovers quickly. He nips my lower lip playfully and his arms come around me, lifting my body ever so slightly, so that he can hold me properly in his arms. He makes me feel as fragile as a doll despite my many talents. I feel normal with him, possibly because he is just like me, probably stronger, although I would never admit it to his face.

Eventually, with a sigh, he pulls his arms out from under me and pushes my shoulders gently back until I am once again lying down. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his gaze lingers there for a while before he meets my eyes.

“I’d better get going,” he says unexpectedly, and I am momentarily stunned. Reed is a physical creature, he is not one to take the moral high ground, particularly when I have initiated the situation.

“Okay.” He helps me up and we make our way to the front door.

“Rebecca,” he turns to face me, “this is not me. You know that. This whole thing between us? I don’t know what it is. I don’t like it. It’s unfamiliar territory. But the way I feel? About you? Well, let’s just say I’ve never felt this way before, about anyone. You drive me crazy. You get under my skin.” I raise my eyebrows at him and he clarifies, “In a good way, obviously.”

“Nice to know,” I tease.

“I would follow you anywhere, you know that?”

“Even to hell and back?” He ruffles my hair and drops a kiss on the top of my head.

“Isn’t that where we’re going?”

Chapter 6

On Wednesday afternoon we have our final strategy meeting in the Gold Room. There are ten of us heading for Dodge City: myself, Reed, Morgan, David for his knowledge of the tunnels, Marcus Clark and Gabe Hunter, our ballistics experts, three Gifted Legion soldiers, Jethro, Brett and Tim, and Veronica, who will be in charge of food and provisions. I think Veronica would volunteer for anything, no matter how dangerous, just to be rid of the General for a few days. Kwan wanted to accompany us, but it is vital that his training programme for the new Gifted soldiers should not be interrupted. Remarkably, in less than a week, six men have undergone the procedure, three for speed, and three for strength. Even more surprisingly, all six survived. The General’s smug “I told you so” attitude is a small price to pay for the lives of these brave volunteers.

“I should be going,” Michael’s dejected voice cuts across the table as we examine the blueprints that David has laid out for us.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” I apologise, “but Kwan needs you here to help with the training.” He sees through my flimsy excuse but I will not put Michael in harm’s way if I can help it. He is still underage, regardless of his ability.

The plan is to make our way back to the Toledo camp. From there, we will enter the States through Michigan, via the Ottawa Creek. The crossing is only a little more than 500 yards. Once within the States, we will head west towards Chicago. David is fairly confident we can access the old underground tunnels near the Chicago River, where we will camp out and make our final plans. If we succeed in destroying the NUSA lab we’ll backtrack and make our way home the same way.

“How do you plan on blowing up the lab?” the General asks, once we have mapped our journey, which is more than 2000 miles each way. I turn to Gabe and Marcus, our specialists. The two men, both in their mid-thirties, have been best friends since childhood. Neither possesses any Gifted abilities but they are experts at their craft. They have been studying and practising the art of making improvised explosive devices since their school days. Gabe and Marcus outline their plan for the pipe-bombs that they have designed for the purpose of our mission – tightly sealed sections of metal pipe filled with explosive materials.

“The containment of the pipe allows for a relatively large explosion, considering the simple, low explosives we have available,” Marcus begins.

“We’ll carry all the materials with us. The best place to construct the bombs will be in the tunnels themselves,” Gabe adds.

“Why can’t you make them here?” the General asks.

“Too risky,” Marcus answers. “The explosive mixture is very prone to ignition by friction, and I wouldn’t advise travelling two miles, let alone two thousand, with such a volatile explosive. Even when we’re packing the material inside the tubes or attaching the end-caps, there is the risk of premature detonation.”

“Learned that the hard way, did you?” Reed drawls, eyeing the two missing fingers on Marcus’s left hand.

“That explosive was fifty times smaller than what we are attempting here,” Gabe interjects solemnly and everyone is silent for a minute.

“Do you fill it with anything else, any shrapnel?” My curiosity gets the better of me.

“Not necessary, we’re aiming for demolition, not injury.”

“There are a lot of people in that building, innocent people,” I emphasise.

“It won’t destroy the entire building,” Gabe explains. “In fact there will be very little damage to the untargeted levels. The bombs are quite contained. They should completely destroy the lab and anything in it, but the rest of the building should escape unscathed. Unless you are wanting to bring down the entire Plaza?”

“That might not be the worst idea,” Tim voices what half of the table is probably thinking. “I mean, it is the NUSA headquarters.”

“No.” I don’t leave any room for argument. “We are not going to murder innocent people, no matter what we stand to gain.”

“How do you detonate the bombs?” Morgan calls from her seat down the table.

“Detonating cord,” Marcus replies. “It’ll give us time to get out, but it’s going to burn pretty quickly.” He turns his attention to me. “You’re going to have a few minutes, at the most.”

I nod. “We’ll make it.”

The time-frame limits us slightly in that only those of us who are Gifted with speed will be able to enter the Plaza. Reed and me, obviously, and Jethro and Brett, who are speed-Gifted. David, Morgan and Tim are all Gifted with strength and will be needed in case we encounter any resistance along the way, but they will not be able to accompany us on the final leg. They wouldn’t make it out in time. I don’t know how comfortable I feel about having a very volatile bomb strapped to my back, but I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

“Well, I think that about covers it,” I bring the meeting to a close. “We’ll leave at four o’clock tomorrow morning. It’s a long way to Dodge City.”

Dodge City, Kansas, is home to one of our largest Rebel camps and marks the halfway point on our way to Ohio. We will stay at the camp for a day or two, just long enough to replenish our fuel and food supplies, before continuing on to Toledo. We will cover over a thousand miles tomorrow, probably driving through into the night. With any luck, we should reach camp around 9 pm.

The meeting ends and the General calls me aside as everyone files from the room.

“I just want to wish you good luck, Miss Davis,” he says brusquely.

“Thank you, General.”

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“A week to ten days, give or take.”

“Two full days’ travel either way, a day each way for the Chicago journey, so that gives you a few days to plan and execute. What makes you think you can stay undetected in those tunnels?”

“David assures me that nobody is even aware they exist. I trust David,” I say pointedly.

“All right, well, you’d better be off. I’m sure you have some packing to do. In the meantime we’ll continue with the programme. With any luck, you may have a dozen more soldiers by the time you return.”

I wish him a stilted “good luck” before I hastily leave the room.

Knowing that I will have to say goodbye to Alex tomorrow morning puts me in a stinking temper. I am in no mood for nonsense, so when Michael appears beside the old Discovery 4 Land Rover that I am packing, I don’t even give him the opportunity to speak.

“Not happening,” I warn as I lift two fuel containers into the trunk.

“But . . .”

“No buts, Michael. You’re staying here. Kwan will need help with all the new soldiers that the General is so intent on creating.”

“Okay, but . . .”

“Goodbye, Michael.” My guilt at leaving Alex makes me curt and I instantly regret it. I am about to apologise but he has already walked away.

“Careful, Tiny, you keep being so nice to people and they might start thinking you’ve gone soft.” Reed is packing the second vehicle, one of our old Jeeps.

“Shut up,” I snap, but Reed is impervious to my moodiness and he just rolls his eyes.

Reed, Morgan, Gabe and two of our soldiers, Brett and Tim, will be travelling in the Jeep, while David, Veronica, Marcus, Jethro and I are taking the Land Rover. Marcus and Gabe would have preferred to ride together, but we felt it a necessary precaution to split up the two bomb experts in case anything happened to one or other vehicle. I run my eye over the rest of the group. Jethro, olive-skinned and dark-haired, is a valuable asset. He is steadfast and serious, methodical and calculated, and although he does not show much emotion, I trust him implicitly.

Brett and Tim, also firm friends, and the jokers of the pack, are laughing and joking among themselves as they load the food supplies, simultaneously flirting with Veronica who is blushing to the roots of her hair. The two men are deceptive in appearance. Brett, short and stocky, is incredibly fast, while Tim, lankier and slimmer in build, is strong as an ox. David specifically asked that he travel with my group. I think he is intimidated by Reed. I also have an annoying suspicion that Morgan may have asked Reed if she could rather travel with him. Wondering for a minute when we are going to get past this animosity, I lean against the Discovery, watching Reed loading up the Jeep. His arms are tanned and muscular and his hair falls over his eyes every time he bends to retrieve the next item of luggage.

“Enjoying the view?” he jokes suddenly, and I redden unbecomingly.

“Be ready at four,” I say tersely, and the sound of his laughter echoes behind me as I walk away.

I wake at 3 am and almost immediately there is a gentle knock on the door. I let Jenna in, both of us speaking in hushed whispers so as not to wake Alex.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here in time,” I smile, as she shuffles inside. She is still wearing her pyjamas and a pair of pink fluffy slippers. I don’t even ask how she managed to procure those. Her hair is standing on end, and she yawns widely as she makes her way immediately to the kitchen and turns on the gas.

“Coffee?” she mumbles.

“Please.” I leave her to it and go back to my room and get dressed quickly.

I am back in five minutes and gratefully accept the steaming cup.

“So, are you all ready?” Jenna asks, eyeing me over her own mug.

“As ready as we’ll ever be, I guess, Jen.” I swallow the lump in my throat and set my mug back on the counter. “I can’t thank you enough. For taking care of Alex, for being there when I . . .”

“Becca,” she stops me in mid-sentence. “I know I give you a whole lot of shit, and I don’t really ever bring up what it is you do. You’re my best friend; I want to be your normal person, the one who sees you as something other than our ‘divine’ leader; to put a little fun in your life. Having said that,” she puts her own mug down and looks me straight in the eye, “what you do . . . what you sacrifice, to keep us safe? I can’t tell you how amazing that is, what it means to us.”

“Jen,” I laugh, feeling awkward, but she holds up a hand to silence me.

“Do you know why I left the States? Why I came here in the first place?”

“Aidan?” I tease.

“I came because it was your family that was asking. And I knew that meant you had something to do with what was coming. And I just knew that you would do it, that you would bring about the change that we needed.” I have never heard Jenna sound so serious, so earnest. “You’re going to win this, Becca. I know you are. And if watching Alex helps you to be able to do what it is you need to do, well, it’s the very least I can contribute. Besides,” she dazzles me with her elfin smile, “I adore Alex, so it’s not as if I’m really doing anything I don’t want to do.” I am silent for a long moment, not trusting myself to speak. My crazy, zany friend’s words have both warmed and humbled me.

“Thank you,” I answer eventually, crossing the room and giving her a hug. “And Jen,” I take a deep breath, “if anything happens to me; if for some reason I don’t make it back . . .”

“You will,” she cuts across me firmly and I don’t press it. I know she will take care of my son, I don’t need to hear it. Gathering myself for a moment, I turn and walk down the passage to Alex’s room. Saying goodbye to Alex is always hard. He clings to me, his little face filled with fear, although he never gives way to his tears. He is determined to be brave and it almost breaks my heart. Eventually, I detach him gently and kiss his forehead, unable to resist squeezing him one last time before I go.

Chapter 7

It is still dark when we set off on Thursday morning, just after 4 am. Jethro is driving while I navigate, and the Jeep follows just behind us, both vehicles churning up huge clouds of dust as we make our way through Nevada. This leg of our journey is uneventful, and Veronica sings softly under her breath, accompanied every now and then by David’s snoring. Marcus, sitting behind me, complains bitterly about the noise for about an hour and then he too falls asleep. I envy Reed’s travelling partners; Brett and Tim are never anything but jovial, and the two are so amusing I can only imagine that the atmosphere in the Jeep is probably a whole lot lighter than our own. Although they do have Morgan, who is not exactly sweetness and light, I remind myself.

“Take this glide-off,” I point to the upcoming intersection, and Jethro moves over onto the left hand side of the road, his huge hands making the steering wheel look tiny. Navigating the old roads is tricky, there are enormous potholes and debris everywhere; the lack of maintenance in the Rebeldom is in stark contrast to the perfection of the States. Despite this, by the time the sun has risen we have made good time and have crossed the state line into Utah. Miles and miles of dry plateau and old electrical pylons go by in a monotonous blur, and then finally the mountains come into view. Just after noon we reach Durango, Colorado. We are about halfway to Dodge City, Kansas and we pull into town, needing to stretch our legs and refuel before our journey through the mountains and down into south-east Colorado.

“Keep an eye out for any Deranged,” I call to the others, as I make my way over to the Jeep from which Reed’s long denim-clad legs are already emerging. The Deranged are the true casualties of the world war. Abandoned in the barren lands, living in isolation in the worst conditions imaginable, they are little more than animals. Uneducated, starving and desperate, they are cannibalistic and dangerous. I had experienced this first-hand when I encountered one of the Deranged in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, when I was fleeing the States, shortly after Eric had learned of my duplicity. The crazed man had taken a massive bite out of my calf during a fight with the Dane soldiers who were pursuing us. My revulsion had far outweighed the pain of that injury. The Rados are slightly less of a threat. Affected by the radiation, many do not live long and those who do, are weak and often physically deformed. I pity these wretched creatures and their miserable existence, victims of Eric and his NUSA isolation policy.

“My ass is numb,” Reed complains, wincing as he limps a few steps away from the Jeep. I leave him to refuel the vehicles and, seeing Veronica preparing food, I decide to go for a walk. We have been on the road for nine hours and my body feels stiff and cramped from sitting for so long. I make my way along a quiet street, quaint buildings on either side. This sleepy little town looks as though it has been frozen in time, although many of the shop windows are smashed, and their interiors show clear signs of the looting that was rife after the war. Curious, I walk through the front garden and step through the splintered door of a church. It is eerily quiet; there is no sound but the soft crunch of glass and sand under my feet. I stop halfway down the aisle and gaze up at the statue of Christ on the cross. There is something beautiful about the marble contours of his body and the infinite sadness on his face. I wonder what He would think about what man has become, what the world has become. Feeling the wetness on my face, I lift my hand and wipe away the tears that have spilled down my cheeks.

I take another two steps towards the statue, wanting to be nearer, seeking comfort, and then I freeze, my leg in mid-air, not even daring to put my foot down. On the pew, right beside me, two Deranged are sleeping. I hold my breath, about to retrace my steps, and then my curiosity gets the better of me. Carefully, I lean over them, taking in the filthy rags they have draped over themselves and the matted, crusted hair that covers their heads. The stench, which I did not notice before, now fills my senses and the rotting, putrid smell makes me gag. Choking back the bile rising in my throat, I realise that one of these pitiful human beings is a woman, judging by the lack of facial hair and the fullness of her bosom.

Wanting to warn the others, I turn to leave but I stop abruptly when I see that a child, no more than seven years old, is standing in the aisle between me and the door and regarding me curiously. There is an ugly scar running down the left side of her face, and her hair has been hacked in short chunks. She is naked, and her body is caked with grime and dried mud. Her feet are so black I cannot see her toenails and she smells like blood and excrement. Putting my hand over my mouth, trying to block out the smell, I stand completely still, not wanting to frighten her.

A shadow passes over us and I glance up to see Reed at the door, his mouth open as though he is about to say something. He freezes when he sees the girl, and I surreptitiously shake my head at him, telling him to stay where he is. I am about to signal to the child that I mean her no harm when her mouth opens and she lets out a bloodcurdling scream that reverberates around the church, rattling what little glass remains in the windows. In the moment it takes for her parents to leap to their feet, snarling and roaring, Reed has crossed the distance between us, grabbed my hand and pulled me from the dark building and out into the sunshine.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asks.

We are heading back in the direction of the cars, but I cannot help but look over my shoulder. This is only the second time I have come into direct contact with the Deranged, only this time I am not half as repulsed. I feel nothing but pity and disgust. This is Eric’s fault; NUSA’s fault. They abandoned these people out here in the barren lands, while within the States life was easy and luxurious.

“She’s only a child,” I murmur.

“They’re still human, Rebecca; they breed. There is no sterilisation programme out here,” he seems to realise what he has said and he turns to me. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I smile awkwardly. I had been sterilised early on in my marriage to Eric. His screening had come back with genetic anomalies and we had both been sterilised to prevent passing on any genetic abnormalities. It was NUSA policy; a law that we upheld – Eric, because he believed in it, and me because I needed him to believe that I agreed with him. Eric had never known of Alex’s existence. My body’s healing ability ensured that he never suspected I had given birth to a child. That was a secret I kept hidden in my heart for years; it gave me the strength to do what needed to be done, to stay close to Eric and, ultimately, to bring him down.

“We need to get out of here,” Reed says and I snap back to the present.

“Before they come after us,” I agree. The three pitiful wretches in the church pose no real threat, but I do not want any unnecessary reason for them to get hurt.

“It’s not them I’m worried about,” he says, shielding his eyes and pointing in a westerly direction. I turn and follow the line of his arm. Standing on a low ridge of the nearby mountains are three people. They are facing us, and are very obviously watching us, but they are too far away to make out their faces.

“Morgan,” Reed begins, and I notice that Morgan is leaning against the hood of the Jeep, “get them all back, we’re leaving.” Morgan nods and disappears into the town.

“Who the hell . . .” I trail off as the man on the far left gets my attention. The way he stands, his physique, reminds me poignantly of Aidan.

“I don’t know,” Reed answers, already packing up, “but they’re too far away to get to, and it would take us miles out of our way. We need to get moving, we’ll know soon enough if they follow us.”

Less than five minutes later we leave Durango in a cloud of dust. I glance up at the ridge where our observers were standing but there is nobody there. It’s my turn to drive. Jethro needs to rest and David is navigating. Forcing myself to concentrate, we start our steep ascent into the mountains, the Jeep right behind us.

By the time we reach the camp in Dodge City it is after 10 pm and I am exhausted. Nobody followed us and the remainder of our journey was uneventful. Veronica and I immediately set about making the camp habitable, getting linen on the beds, setting up cots and getting the gas lanterns burning. The Dodge Camp has a working water well and the ablutions are not as primitive as some of the smaller camps, but I am too tired to prepare a bath. I climb under the covers of my bed, feeling only slightly guilty that I get a double foam mattress while everyone else is sleeping on single cots. Hearing the soft murmurs of a few of the others outside, I am asleep within minutes.

“Move over, Tiny,” Reed hisses, and I blink, bleary-eyed. It is pitch black outside and the camp is eerily silent.

“What are you doing?” I mumble, rolling automatically onto my side. Without any explanation, he climbs onto the mattress and lies down on his back.

“Reed!”

“Oh, get over yourself,” he yawns. “Have you tried to sleep on one of those cots? I’m not here to test your virtue, I just wanna get some sleep.” He rolls onto his side, his back to me, and I smile in the dark, rolling the other way and closing my eyes.

When I wake in the morning, the sun is barely rising and Reed is snoring softly beside me, his arm thrown casually across my stomach. I turn to face him, taking in the contours of his face; dark lashes sweeping his cheeks, his dark blond hair falling over one eye. His shoulders are broad and tanned and he has a small scar on his neck, just above his collarbone. It must be from an old injury, before he got his abilities.

“Stop staring,” he says, and I blush as he opens his startling green eyes. His eyes travel down my face, over my chest and come to rest on his own arm, which is still slung over my body.

“Good morning.” He raises his eyes to meet mine, not moving his arm.

“Morning,” I reply, feeling absurdly content. I slept more soundly last night than I have in weeks.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, staring at me intently.

“Fine. You?”

“I think you should go and have a bath.”

“What?” I jump, lifting my shirt to my nose.

“You don’t stink, Tiny,” he chuckles, pressing his face into the pillow, “but you need to get out of this bed.”

“Ah,” I reply knowingly, and before I test his patience any further, I slide out of the bed and stand up. I pull back the curtain, the sky is lightening already, and I can hear someone talking in the kitchen.

“Hand me my pants, will you?”

“What?” I stare down at him.

“My pants,” he points at the blue jeans hanging over the chair next to his side of the bed.

“Oh you didn’t?”

“Yeah, I did,” he grins. “Now hand me my pants, woman.”

Despite the good night’s sleep, our team is still bleary-eyed and yawning at breakfast.

“We’ll stay on tonight,” I announce when we convene in the makeshift strategy room. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow. We need to be in Toledo tomorrow night.” There is no planning to be done here, we will prepare when we reach Ohio, so everyone has the day to themselves. I notice Veronica and Jethro laughing together as she prepares breakfast and I can’t help but smile. People find love in the strangest of places.

Donning my running shoes, I set out for some much needed exercise. I run for about an hour, working up a healthy appetite, and after breakfast I closet myself in the strategy room, needing time to think. I have no idea how much time has passed when Reed sticks his head around the door.

“You planning on sleeping in here, Tiny?” I peer out of the dirty window and realise with a start that the sun has set. I have been here for most of the day, going over the plans and just thinking. About our mission, about Alex and about Aidan. Whatever is going on between Reed and me, I am still not sure how I feel about it. There is a part of me that feels guilty, like I am besmirching Aidan’s memory by having these feelings. Another part of me feels that it is so right with Reed. I still don’t know which part is dominant, and now is not the time to dwell on it. We have an early start tomorrow, so I get up and stretch my legs.

“Mind if I share your bed again?” Reed asks casually, as he examines one of the maps of the tunnels.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yeah, you do,” his answer is not what I expect, and then, “if you can live with me not getting any sleep,” he raises his eyebrows accusingly.

“Come on, Cowboy.”

Reed is already on the mattress by the time I finish in the bathroom and I curl up beside him, my head on my arm. I can feel the heat of his body next to me, although we are not touching, and when I stretch my legs, my feet brush up against his. I pull them back instantly and it is so obvious that Reed chuckles in the dark.

“Easy, Tiger,” he murmurs, rolling onto his side and pulling me back against him. “We’re just going to sleep.” There is silence for a long while and I slowly relax against him, relishing the human contact and trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment that won’t go away.

After another gruelling day’s journey we reach the Toledo camp well after dark the following evening. Collapsing into our hastily prepared accommodation, all ten of us sleep until well after dawn. Reed has his own room and I am surprised by how much I miss his presence.

Now that we are so close to Chicago planning begins in full force. Our mission starts the next day after a full day’s rest. Our initial plan is that eight of us will enter the States and head for the safety of the tunnels, with Veronica and Morgan staying behind. David is necessary for his knowledge of the tunnels, Marcus and Gabe for assembling the bombs. Tim is there for combat, in case it comes to a fight. As only the speed-Gifted will have any chance of escaping the blasts, the only people who will actually enter the Plaza will be Reed, myself, Jethro and Brett.

“Okay, am I the only one who sees a problem here?” Reed interrupts David’s explanation of the tunnel entrance near the Chicago River. “What if they see us coming down the river? Sure, the fences can’t cross the water, but I’m pretty sure they will be watching it.”

This could undo our best-laid plans. If the soldiers manning the boundary fences do happen to see us we will never make it through to Michigan, let alone get near Chicago.

“We need a diversion,” Tim speaks out, “something to draw their attention away from the river.”

Eventually, for want of a better plan, we decide that Tim will distract them, and then go back to camp to protect Morgan and Veronica. He will not be entering the States with us.

“Sorry, buddy, no action for you.” Brett smiles smugly at his friend.

“Yeah, I get to stay behind with two gorgeous women, while you get wet and dirty,” Tim counters and after a moment’s consideration, Brett curses under his breath. Then the two burst out laughing.

“And then there were seven,” Marcus intones and Gabe grins at him.

“We still okay to assemble the bombs in the tunnels?” I ask and they nod in unison.

“It’s better if we leave before it gets too light, makes it harder for them to see us,” I finish, and the meeting draws to a close. Morgan is the first to leave the room and I frown after her. She has not said two words to me since we left Las Vegas, and I am getting more than a little fed up with her attitude. This camp stirs up memories for all of us. It was from here that we launched our battle against the Dane Army, and it was here that we mourned our dead, including Robert Rellis, Morgan’s boyfriend.

“Morgan!” I call after her, but either she doesn’t hear me or she pretends not to, and by the time I reach the door, she is halfway across the yard. Exasperated, I return inside to go over the plan once more, on my own.

Chapter 8

At 3 am Reed nudges me awake. I get up immediately, get dressed and ready and hoist my satchel over my arms. We are each carrying a bag loaded with food, supplies, and the materials that Gabe and Marcus need to assemble the bombs. The bags are heavy and cumbersome, but necessary. By 3.15 we are all assembled outside.

“You ready?” I ask Tim, and he nods as he gets into the Jeep and starts the engine. Morgan is already in the Land Rover, and the others pile inside, while Reed and I climb onto the open tailgate. Veronica waves us off, disappearing quickly into the dark as we pull away. Morgan is driving us the five miles north to the river’s edge. David, Marcus and Gabe would take too long if we were to run the relatively short distance and we would never make it before sunrise. At the next intersection, the Jeep turns left, pulling away from us, and Brett sticks his head out of the rear window and yells, “Good luck, buddy!” The Jeep’s hazard lights flash three times, Tim signalling that he has heard and Brett closes the window, looking satisfied. It takes only ten minutes to reach the Ottawa River. David preselected the entry point, far enough away from the Ohio-Michigan state line that the guards won’t see us entering the water, but not so far that the swim itself will be too strenuous.

“Good luck,” Morgan is tight-lipped as she makes sure we have all our gear before she gets back in the Discovery and sets off back to camp.

The water is cold, cold enough to be uncomfortable, and I can hear the other six moaning as we submerge ourselves. The river itself is not fast flowing and it is easy enough to control our progress and direction as we begin to make our way downstream. I start feeling anxious only when we are nearing the state line. Getting into Michigan is imperative; if we are unsuccessful, we will be back where we started and we have no Plan B. Moving through the water, in the pitch black of night, we whisper among ourselves to make sure that we stay close.

It is so dark that the boundary fences come into view only when we are almost upon them.

“Get to the reeds,” Brett’s low, uncharacteristically panicky voice reaches us, and a moment later I see the cause for his concern. In the shadows underneath the massive spotlights illuminating the river, I see the soldiers patrolling the fence. With a few strokes through the water, we make for the reeds on the eastern river bank, trying to take cover.

“We’ll never get through that undetected,” Gabe murmurs, nodding towards the spotlight, which is rotating along the river only a few yards ahead.

“Well thanks, Captain Obvious.” Reed’s sarcasm is worse when he’s stressed.

“Maybe we should go back.” I can hear David’s teeth chattering beside me.

“Let’s give it a few minutes,” I reply.

“Where the hell is he?” Reed growls.

As if in answer to his question, the night erupts with the blaring of a car horn and the screeching of tyres. The Jeep is skidding and sliding in the dirt just a few yards from the boundary fence, on the Ohio side, lights flashing. Almost immediately the guards nearest us react in a frenzied rush towards the new threat.

Amid the clamour, I raise my voice to be heard. “Now!”

We all push away from the shore, out towards the current. There is a limited window of opportunity and Tim will not be able to hang around; we need to move. I cut through the water, swimming as hard as I can, the others fanning out around me. For a brief moment I am illuminated by the searchlight and my blood runs cold in my veins but I do not hesitate. I keep moving forward, stopping only when I can no longer see the fences or hear the noise. Heaving myself out of the water, dripping and almost numb with cold, I help the others ashore, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of trouble. There is nothing. The only sound is the distant rumble of thunder.

Stamping my feet to warm up, I take in our surroundings and feel a sense of familiarity. I’m back in Michigan, my home state. I was born here; my mother died here. This is where Aidan and I grew up, where we fell in love and where Alex was born. This place holds so many memories. Pushing down the feelings of nostalgia, I follow the others as we head west to find somewhere safe to regroup.

By the time the sun rises we have taken refuge in an abandoned house just a few miles west of the river. The grass is overgrown and the fence is falling to pieces, but it’s warm inside and, having stolen a few items of clothing from nearby wash-lines, we are at least dry. Gabe and Marcus check our precious cargo and assure us that everything is intact. The detonating cord will need to dry out, but this will not be a problem considering that it will be some time before we actually need to use it.

The journey to Chicago is 230 miles, and Gabe, Marcus and David are unfortunately not as fast as the rest of us. Surprisingly, it is Marcus who comes up with a solution.

“We steal a car,” he says simply, as though that should be obvious.

“What?”

“Well, it’s less than half a day’s drive, so we could be there by this afternoon. Unless you want to walk, in which case we might be there this time next week.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” I laugh. “Get us a car.”

It takes less than half an hour. Gabe and Marcus pull up in a station wagon, grinning from ear to ear. As I get in the back, I glance across at the dashboard and realise that there are no keys in the ignition.

“You hot-wired this?” Reed drawls, sounding amazed. “This piece of crap? Seriously? All the cars in town to choose from and you pick the mom-mobile?” Shaking his head in disgust he lapses into silence as we draw away from the kerb.

By the time we reach Illinois we are tired and hungry and tempers are fraying. We abandon the car in an alleyway and hide out in an underground parking garage. We need to wait until nightfall before attempting to reach the tunnels; the risk of being seen during the day is far too great. Reed was right when he speculated that the city of Chicago would be swarming with NUSA soldiers, we have to avoid them at every turn. As soon as night falls we set out and, despite the overwhelming presence of soldiers, we reach the Chicago River without incident. Taking refuge under a bridge which is currently undergoing routine maintenance, David and I scout around for the tunnel entrance.

While we are scouring the ground, trying to find the access shaft, a shout behind me pulls me up short. I turn slowly and find myself face to face with two NUSA soldiers. Cursing my luck, and the chances of being discovered now, when we are so close to our target, I smile winningly and feign complete confidence.

“Hello,” I greet the closest, a tall, wiry man in his mid-thirties. Disarmed, he smiles back, his posture relaxing. His associate, more heavy-set and definitely more surly, regards me with suspicion and doesn’t relax one bit.

“What are you doing here?” he barks.

“We’re checking the integrity of the river bank,” David answers smoothly, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Reports of cracking in the foundations are not taken lightly, as I’m sure you know. The Engineer’s Department needs to make sure that the infrastructure is not compromised.”

He is so convincing, so certain, and there is just a hint of annoyance in his tone, implying that these two soldiers might not understand the importance of his work. The wiry soldier looks affronted but immediately issues an apology. Thinking that this may just have worked, I turn to walk away when the larger officer steps in front of me and holds up his hand.

“Can I see some ID?”

“What?” David is apoplectic beside me. “How dare you?”

He launches into a professional tirade and I take the opportunity to glance around. There is no one in sight. Without hesitation, I step forward and snap the larger man’s neck. He falls to the ground, glazed eyes staring heavenward, but my attention is diverted by a sudden movement to my left. The thinner man has fled, and with no ordinary speed.

“Hide his body,” I tell David, pointing to the prostrate man on the ground, and then I sprint after the escaping soldier. I know I am faster than he is, but my biggest concern is that I may not be able to catch him before he reaches a populated area. I cannot afford to be seen by anyone. I pump my legs harder than ever. We are in a quiet alleyway lined with factories, but about a half-mile ahead I can see a large intersection. Night or day, the busy street we are headed towards is well-lit and there’s no way we will go undetected once we pass through it. I am gaining on him, but I’ll never reach him in time. Hurtling towards the intersection, though, he makes a fatal mistake. He turns ever so slightly to check on my whereabouts, and it slows him just enough for me to be able to launch myself at him and bring him crashing to the ground a few feet from the intersection. Not wasting a moment, I leap to my feet and drag him bodily into a nearby underground garage. He struggles pitifully against my strength, but his yells for help are drowned by the heavy traffic on the nearby road.

Shoving him against the cold concrete wall, I grip him by the throat.

“Why?” he garbles, the constriction of his air passage making it almost impossible for him to speak. I don’t know why I hesitate. This man has to die. Maybe it’s that his warm brown eyes remind me of Aidan. His bewildered, terrified expression will haunt me, I know, but I have no choice.

“You’ve seen us, you have to die,” I snarl, tightening my grip.

“I don’t even know who you are!” he squeaks, his eyes watering from the pain. I can feel his delicate windpipe beneath my palm, it will only take an infinitesimal amount of pressure and it will snap like a twig. He can sense it too, and his hands, which were clawing at mine, drop limply to his sides. I watch his eyes roll back in his head, his wheezing gasps for air growing more and more faint, and eventually, he drops to the ground and I close my own eyes.

“What the hell?” Reed roars as I walk back under the bridge. “What have you done?”

I drop my heavy burden to the ground, stretching my arms, unable to face him.

“Rebecca?”

“Is he dead?” Jethro asks matter of factly.

“No. He’s just passed out.” Like clockwork, the young soldier at my feet starts to stir and Jethro bends over him, ready to restrain him if need be.

“A word,” Reed hisses, grabbing my arm painfully and dragging me back out into the open, out of hearing of the others.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What? You don’t know? You’re putting our lives at risk, our mission at risk!”

“We don’t know that.”

“That man is a NUSA soldier, Rebecca! NUSA is our enemy, or have you forgotten?”

“NUSA is,” I retort, “but not every man that works for it! They don’t know any better, Reed, maybe we can reason with him.”

He sighs dramatically, running his hands through his hair.

“We can’t risk it. This is war, not rehab. We don’t have the time or resources to waste trying to save people who probably don’t want saving.”

“They might,” I counter.

“Seriously?” He looks at me incredulously. “How many people do you think would be prepared to give up their luxurious lifestyles to come and live in our Vegas shit-hole?”

“It’s not a shit-hole.”

“It is if you don’t understand the meaning behind it.”

“We can explain.”

“No, Tiny. We can’t.”

“He’s awake,” Gabe calls from the bridge and I turn away from Reed, ignoring his sigh of discontent.

“Where am I?” I can hear our captive long before I see him, his panicky, fearful voice ringing out in the silent cool of the night. Nobody answers him; they turn to me for direction.

“We’re not going to hurt you.”

“What do you want with me?”

“Nothing,” I answer. “Just your silence.”

“We really don’t need anyone knowing that we’re here,” Reed explains.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he answers, so obviously that even I can’t help laughing.

“Okay, well, let’s just say I won’t be taking your word on that,” I nod at Jethro and Brett, and they step forward immediately to bind his arms behind his back.

“This is a bad idea,” Reed shakes his head and shrugs his rucksack over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” I say, ignoring him.

Chapter 9

This time, uninterrupted, our search for the access point of the tunnels doesn’t take long. David’s estimations are astonishingly accurate, and one by one we enter the old, partially covered manhole and descend into the musty darkness.

Our prisoner, Stefan, puts up no resistance and climbs down the rusted mine ladder between Jethro and Brett. Reed brings up the rear and pulls the manhole cover back over the top of the shaft, plunging us into darkness. The eight of us cluster around at the base of the shaft in the dark, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the blackness. The tunnel we are standing in is surprisingly cool and dry and remarkably well-ventilated.

Extracting two torches from David’s rucksack, Reed tosses one to Jethro, and they shine them back and forth down the tunnel in both directions. About six feet wide and about eight feet high, the tunnel walls are lined with coarse concrete and are oddly elliptical. The two-foot gauge track on the ground, which was obviously used for transportation before the war, stretches in both directions, until it is swallowed by the dark at the point where the beam of the torch cannot penetrate.

“Hand me that,” David takes Jethro’s torch and shines it down on the blueprint that he has unfolded on the dusty ground. He examines it for a few minutes and then he nods his head, hands back the torch and gets to his feet.

“We’re going this way,” he indicates north and Reed snorts with derision.

“Didn’t exactly need a map to figure that out,” he mutters under his breath and I smile in the dark.

We walk for about an hour, twisting and turning through the labyrinth of tunnels, stopping every few minutes for David to check the blueprints. The floor of the tunnel is mostly clear of debris, although in a few places there are piles of brick and plaster, obviously where the tunnels have partially collapsed. We manage to get through these obstacles without much difficulty. We pass a few abandoned freight cars filled with coal and postal packages. Picking a yellowed, faded envelope from a pile, I shine my torchlight on the address, written in a swirly, girlish hand.

“Jason Holland, c/o Macys, 111 N State Street, Chicago, Illinois, 60602,” Reed reads over my shoulder. “Love letter?” he muses and I turn the letter over to read the return address.

“I wouldn’t send a love letter to work, would you?”

“Maybe Laura Clancy was mixing business with pleasure?” His tone is teasing and I laugh, dropping the letter back on the stack. It’s hard to believe that these letters, written almost twenty-eight years ago, are just lying here, forgotten, lost in the passage of time. I wonder if Laura and Jason survived the war, and what became of the hundreds of other names written on these envelopes. It’s as if, down here, time has stood still.

“Come on, Tiny,” Reed calls as the group moves around another sharp bend, and I am roused from my musings and jog a few paces to catch up.

“What are those?” I ask as we pass yet another heavily reinforced steel structure resembling a door.

“Waterproof fire-doors,” David answers, leading us left as we come to another fork, “in case of fire or flooding, presumably from the river. They act as bulkheads, enabling flooded sections of the tunnels to be sealed off.”

“Ah.” My suspicions are confirmed.

A few yards on we make a sharp right turn and Reed stops dead. I am looking down and I walk straight into his back.

“What the . . .” I pause, coming to stand between him and David.

“That doesn’t look so good, Specs,” Reed drawls but David ignores the barb. This is the first bulkhead that we have come across that is closed, blocking our path.

“That’s not good at all.” He steps forward and presses his hand against the cold metal.

“Do we open it?” I ask, and David shakes his head, gesturing me forward. I place my own hand on the door and my pulse rate speeds up.

“Can you feel it?” he asks, and as I nod, the door gives an ominous creak. I can feel the pressure pulsing beneath my hand. There is water behind this door. A whole lot of it.

“I shouldn’t be down here,” Stefan whimpers as we bend to consult the blueprint for an alternative route.

“None of us should be down here,” Marcus shivers involuntarily, eyeing the massive door uneasily.

“Okay,” David eventually breaks the long silence after studying the blueprints intently. “There is another way through, but we’ll have to backtrack a bit.”

We turn and retrace our steps and Reed pauses and examines the first fire-door we pass. When he starts pushing against it, I realise what he is doing and I add my own strength. Wordlessly, David comes up behind us and starts to push too. The door is meant to be mechanically closed, but with our combined strength it starts to move, inch by inch.

“Just a bit more,” Jethro calls, watching from the side. With an audible ‘clunk’ the door locks into place, and David slides the fastening mechanism across it with little difficulty.

“Just in case,” Reed mutters, his face expressionless.

“I shouldn’t be down here,” Stefan echoes but we ignore him as we venture further along in the murky darkness.

Having to circumnavigate our original route takes far more time than we initially estimated, and by the time we reach the three-point split in the tunnel that David has earmarked as our temporary camp, we are tired and hungry.

“We’re only a few hundred yards from the Macy’s basement,” David announces. This means that we are only about one and a half miles from the Dane Corp Plaza. “The freight cars used to run right up into it for loading, but I’m fairly sure the entrance will have been completely barricaded up. We’ll get through, though.”

“Okay, and the plan again, once we get into the basement?” I ask.

“We access the Pedway,” he says. This is where our operation becomes risky. We emerge from the tunnels in Macy’s deep sub-basement, make our way up a floor into the basement, and then enter the underground Pedway, which is a popular public pedestrian system. We need to venture out in public and make our way through the Pedway without drawing any attention to ourselves. It is still far safer than emerging onto the street itself, which we will only need to do a quarter of a mile from the Dane Corp Plaza. The Chicago Pedway, a network of public tunnels used for foot traffic, particularly in inclement weather, will at least keep most of our journey as concealed as possible.

“Okay,” I nod in the dim light of the torches and I turn back to our luggage.

In the absence of Veronica, I set about retrieving what little food we have carried with us and prepare a meagre meal. Hardly satisfied, we settle down to sleep, Reed offering his concave stomach as a makeshift pillow. Far more comfortable than the hard stone floor, I lie back and am asleep within minutes.

It feels like only moments later that I am shaken gently awake by Jethro to take my turn at watching over Stefan. We cannot afford to allow him to escape, even though the chances of him finding his way through the tunnels without David’s expertise are slim. We are taking two-hour shifts and I am second in line, so I have not had much rest and my eyes are scratchy and burning. I cross the space to sit close to where Stefan appears to be sleeping, pulling my knees up to my chest and for the first time doubting my decision to keep him alive. It’s putting us all through a lot of unnecessary stress. Jethro has moved not too far away and soon I hear the soft sound of his snores. Almost immediately I hear Stefan’s urgent whisper in the dark.

“Rebecca?”

“Hmm?” I am not in the least bit surprised that he is not really asleep.

“You have to get me out of here.” I frown into the blackness as he continues, “They’re going to kill me.”

“Not if you behave yourself.”

“No, listen to me, I’m serious. I can feel it, it’s only a matter of time!”

“What makes you think I would help you?”

“I know you don’t want to kill me, you’re not like the rest of them.”

“Really? And what gives you that idea?”

“You saved me . . . You . . .” He hasn’t even finished the sentence when I spring up, landing like a cat, and grab him around his throat.

“Listen to me,” I hiss, my mouth against his ear. “Don’t for one moment mistake my momentary compassion for weakness. I will kill you in an instant if I feel, even for a second, that you pose a risk to any of these men.” I ease up as I hear the rattling of his breath in his throat. “I’m the one you should be worried about,” I add, dropping him back to the ground and settling myself in my original position as though nothing has happened.

“It’s my turn,” Brett takes over from me a few hours later. “I’m sorry I overslept, you should have woken me.” His sandy brown hair is standing up on end and his blue eyes look black in the dark.

“It’s fine.” I pat his shoulder as I make my way past him and settle down next to Reed, who pulls me against him in his sleep, warming my numb, cold body.

The next morning our plans are once more in full swing.

“We should move further down the tunnels to assemble the bombs,” Marcus warns. “We’ll find a subsidiary tunnel, just in case. We don’t want to block our exit if anything goes wrong.”

Between them, he and Gabe carry the four rucksacks filled with the materials they need, and Reed, Brett and I follow behind, leaving Jethro and David to keep an eye on Stefan. David is still poring over his maps, trying to find the quietest place to exit the Pedway, one that will minimise our chances of being seen, and from where we can scout the Dane Corp Plaza. We are still not entirely sure how we will gain access to the building or how many guards are patrolling it. We may need to make the trip a few times to gather information before we launch our attack, although this is not ideal because it will increase our chances of being discovered. With a little luck, David will come up with a foolproof plan.

We stand a relatively short distance away from where Marcus and Gabe are working, but I watch closely, fascinated by what they are doing. Their concentration is palpable, and their movements are slow and precise. Eventually, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Gabe beckons Jethro over and hands him a rucksack filled with five completed bombs. Jethro carries them gingerly to our makeshift camp, and before he returns, Marcus calls me over to collect a second rucksack.

“Slowcoach,” Gabe smiles at his friend as I step forward to take the bag from him.

“Show-off,” Marcus grins back at him as I turn away and they both get back to work. We are taking twenty pipe-bombs into the Plaza, carried in four rucksacks by Reed, Jethro, Brett and me. David, Gabe and Marcus will remain in the tunnels awaiting our return, and then we will head back home to Vegas. I am filled with apprehension as I carry the satchel back to the others and place it carefully beside the one Jethro has already bought back. I heave a sigh of relief when I set it down and then return to watch Marcus and Gabe finish their task.

“Done,” Gabe announces eventually, looking smug, and he stands and shrugs his second satchel gently over his shoulder, waving away Jethro’s offer of help.

“Dammit!” Marcus mutters in mock annoyance at having been beaten again, and Gabe laughs.

“Always two steps behind, old friend,” he winks as he passes us, Jethro just behind him, and they are soon swallowed up as the tunnel makes a sharp right turn further along.

“You may as well go back,” Reed says. “I’ll wait for Marcus.” I am about to object when Marcus speaks.

“No, it’s fine, I’m done.” He stands, shouldering the pack.

“Okay, let’s go.” I turn to lead the way back and as I do, chaos erupts.

I hear shouts from the direction of our camp, and a tall figure comes sprinting towards us, almost knocking me off my feet as he shoulders bodily past me. I hear Reed’s low, “Son of a bitch!” and then we are bathed in light as Jethro and Brett come flying around the sharp bend after Stefan, torches in their hands. This all takes just a few seconds, but everything seems to happen in slow motion.

I turn to run after Stefan when I hear Reed roar “No!” and he hits me square in the chest with both hands, propelling me backwards with the force of a freight train. I am flying through the air, my arms and legs wind-milling, and, with a jolt of pure, unadulterated terror, I realise that Stefan has collided with Marcus, whose eyes are round with horror. The satchel has slipped off his shoulder and is falling to the ground. Reed’s eyes bore into mine for a split second, and then he turns, blurring with velocity, as the five highly explosive canisters hit the ground. The explosion shakes the ground around me and a hot blast hits me full in the face, burning my eyes and skin. The force of the blast propels me back even faster through the air, and I fall heavily into Brett and Jethro, all three of us hitting the ground hard.

Dazed, I cannot move, and although my body is screaming in agony, I can’t make a sound. David’s face looms above me, barely visible through the cloud of dust, and I can see his mouth moving but I cannot hear a thing. He reaches for the side of my face, pressing his hand against my ear, and when he raises it, it is stained crimson with blood.

“Just hold on!” I manage to lip-read, and then my eyes close, once, twice and then my strength fails me and I give in to the void.

I wake to the sound of coughing and moans of agony.

“Ah,” I gasp, clutching my head.

“Rebecca!” David is at my side in an instant and tries in vain to stop me from sitting up. It seems not much time has passed; there is still a faint haze of dust over the chaos around me. Gabe is crouching over Brett, the source of the moaning, who is slumped against the concrete wall a few yards down the tunnel clutching his chest, and Jethro is lying a few feet away from him, whether unconscious or dead, I don’t know.

“Jethro!” I try to clamber to my feet, and my right leg collapses beneath me.

“Easy! He’s okay!” David reassures me. “You can hear me?” He checks my ears.

“I heal fast. Brett?” I ask, gasping as a searing pain shoots up my leg.

“Not fast enough, apparently,” he says, cringing at my obvious pain. “I think he’s going to be okay, I’ll get to him in a minute.” David, with his ability of strength and Gabe, who has no Gifted abilities, were not fast enough to reach the tunnel by the time the bombs detonated, and so they are unharmed.

“Go, I’ll be fine,” I insist, seeing that Gabe is at a loss as to how to deal with Brett. I can already feel the tingling in my leg that indicates my healing ability is starting to work. David, hearing the authority in my tone, nods quickly and then moves away to crouch over Brett and examine his wounds. Using my hands I drag my body backwards and prop myself up against an enormous boulder. Leaning forward, I rip my denims from calf to upper thigh, wincing involuntarily when I see the bloody gash. Blood is pouring from the wound, staining the dirt, and I press both hands down, applying pressure while trying to figure out what has just happened. It suddenly occurs to me that the cut is in almost exactly the same place where I was shot by Cole Thomas just a few months ago. That time, Reed had tended my wound. Like a shot to the heart, I remember. Reed! Ignoring the pain in my leg, I get to my feet and hop forward, praying fervently, my torn jeans flapping around my right ankle.

Away from the discarded torches the blackness engulfs me and I scream back down the tunnel. “David! The torch! I need the light!”

The feeble beam cuts through the dark, swinging this way and that as David runs towards me. I keep moving forward, away from him, until my progress is halted suddenly by a wall of boulders and stone.

“No!” I whisper, running my hands in all directions over the barrier, trying desperately to find an opening. Gabe is suddenly beside me, his own hands pulling out rocks, clawing at the impenetrable mountain, and I realise that his best friend is in there, too.

“Reed!” I call, scrabbling frantically, throwing boulders behind me, ignoring the rocks bumping painfully against my legs as they roll down and land on my feet.

“Reed!” I scream, my fingernails bleeding. “Reed!”

Beside me Gabe is calling for Marcus, and I tear at the wall of rock like a woman possessed.

“Stop it!” David yells, grabbing me from behind and trying to pull me away.

“Let me go!”

“There’s nothing you can do!”

“Let-me-go!” I roar, guilt fuelling my anger. Reed pushed me out of the way and it cost him the time he needed to save his own life. He sacrificed himself for me. Kicking back at David, I feel the crunch as my foot connects with his knee. He releases me instantly, dropping painfully to the ground and as I turn, mortified, to apologise, I hear Gabe’s pitiful howl beside me. Glancing down at the hand illuminated by the fallen torch, I feel the energy drain from my body and I slump to the ground beside Gabe. The lifeless, bloodied hand protruding from the debris is missing two fingers. Marcus.

“There’s nothing we can do,” David echoes, and I put my arms around the sobbing Gabe, my own tears streaming down my cheeks and my body racked with silent tears for the man I have lost. The man who, I realise too late, I love.

Chapter 10

“We only have fifteen bombs left,” David announces as he carefully examines the contents of the rucksacks. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough?” He lets the question hang, but Gabe is lost in his suffering and offers no answer. Brett seems to be far better, other than the massive dark purple bruise spreading across his chest, and Jethro is at least conscious, although David is worried that he may have a concussion. Being closest to the actual blast, my injuries were by far the worst, but with my exceptional gifts, I am almost fully healed already.

I cannot think about Reed, it will drive me insane. I can’t comprehend that he is gone, I will not survive it. It’s my fault that he’s dead. I was foolish enough to let Stefan live, to bring him with us. If I had just listened, if I had killed him when I had the chance, Marcus and Reed would still be alive. This is my cross to bear, mine alone. But I will deal with my guilt later, first I have to complete my mission. Getting to my feet I summon every ounce of willpower and shut off the part of me that wants to scream and collapse in a heap and never get up again.

“It’ll be enough,” I answer David’s question. “It has to be.”

“I have some good news,” he murmurs, and I jerk my head in his direction.

“Well, that would make for a nice change, what is it?”

“I’ve been studying the old blueprints for so long trying to navigate the tunnels, that I overlooked the newer editions, the post-war reprints.”

“And?”

“And it seems Eric Dane did some major reconstruction four years ago when he became President.”

“What reconstruction?”

“He extended the Pedway system to include the Dane Corp Plaza.”

“What?” I can’t conceal my excitement and David smiles for the first time since we entered the tunnels.

“The section is not available to the public, but it’s there, trust me. He obviously wanted an escape route, just in case.”

“Show me.” I pull the maps towards me.

We wait until nightfall. It’s our best chance of getting into the Plaza undetected. Jethro has made a full recovery and Brett is raring to go; there is a vengeful atmosphere in the air and I feed off the angry energy. David spends all afternoon going through the route with me until I am fairly certain I could make the journey in my sleep. Gabe will remain in the tunnels. He has not said a word since Marcus’s death and he refuses to eat or drink anything. He just sits on his own in a quiet corner of our hideout, tracing random circles in the dust and staring hollowly into nothing. David will come with us as far as the sub-basement, his strength may come in handy if the barricading of the tunnel entrance is reinforced.

“Time to change,” I call, unpacking the rucksack holding our clothing. Donning clean denims, a grey vest and a white fleece, I pull my dark hair down and fluff it around my shoulders. I pull a white cap over my head and drop the peak as low as possible. My face is the most recognisable of our group because I had been in the NUSA limelight for such a long time. The others are already dressed and look casually inconspicuous in sweat pants and hoodies.

Jethro, Brett and I each shoulder a rucksack.

“Be careful not to jostle the packs too much,” David warns unnecessarily. We are all too acutely aware of the danger we are carrying. We creep forward in the darkness down the final tunnel that leads to the Macy’s sub-basement, David and I each carrying a torch to light our way.

“This is it,” David whispers, as we take a sharp turn to the right and encounter a sealed fire-door. He unlocks the sealing mechanism and between the two of us we pull on the door, which releases an ominous creak as it starts to open. A gust of warm air reaches us, and I peer into the basement, which is pitch black.

“That’s it?” I ask, incredulously. “No barricade?”

“Not necessary,” David explains, sounding unsurprised. “These doors were sealed electronically from a central terminal, and the only way to open them manually is from the tunnel side, which is supposedly inaccessible. We would have been hard-pressed to get through without our strength,” he adds. I shine the torchlight around the basement, but it is empty. A vast, cavernous, unused warehouse.

“You remember where to go?” David asks and I nod. This is where we part ways. David will go back and he and Gabe will stay in the tunnels, awaiting our return.

“If we’re not back by morning, you take Gabe and go home,” I remind him.

“Good luck.”

We climb an old emergency exit and, with one shoulder against the door at the top, we enter Macy’s lower level. A few nearby diners eye us curiously as we exit the door, but we are soon lost in the crowd and moving towards the State Street exit. We are fully exposed on the street for only a moment, and then we descend into the Pedway, our heads down, not making eye contact with any passers-by. We split up, walking a few yards away from each other, with me in the lead because I know the way. Just as I am starting to feel comfortable, I catch a glimpse of the dark blue uniform that is synonymous with NUSA soldiers about 30 yards ahead, and coming in our direction. I glance across at Jethro, but he has seen them, and has turned to examine the magazine rack at a nearby vendor.

I slow my pace waiting for Brett to catch me up and as he does I link arms with him and laugh gaily, smiling at him and pointing at a child playing nearby. Brett plays along instantly, and a moment later the two uniformed guards pass by, giving us only a cursory glance. Heaving a sigh of relief, I continue walking arm in arm with Brett, thinking that it’s probably as good a cover as any.

The Pedway covers over forty blocks beneath Chicago’s loop area, but as we near Streeterville I keep my eyes peeled for the new access way, the one that is not on the grid. Eventually I see the No Entry sign on what appears to be a maintenance door, and I surreptitiously incline my head in its direction. Jethro nods in acknowledgement and browses idly through a rack of sunglasses. Brett grabs my waist, presses me back against the wall only a few feet from the door, and smiles down at me.

“What’s the plan?” he murmurs.

“We wait for a lull in the traffic and then we get in,” I answer, swatting his shoulder playfully. An elderly woman walking by smiles fondly at us, no doubt we look like an ordinary young couple in love.

“You ready?” I mouth at Jethro, who nods once as he readjusts his cap and glances back down the Pedway corridor.

Luckily, the door is just past a sharp bend, and there is very little beyond it, only a few small stores before the Pedway heads back up to the street. Jethro is positioned right in the curve of the walkway and he is acting as a scout to let us know when the coast is clear. I slide my back slowly along the wall until we are only a few feet from the door, and then I hug Brett, keeping my eyes firmly on Jethro. He holds up three fingers against his brown leather jacket and I focus on the signal. A minute or two pass and a few people walk past us on their way back up to street level and then Jethro suddenly drops one finger and my back stiffens. The second finger drops and my adrenalin kicks in, I am on full alert, although outwardly I appear relaxed and happy. Brett, with his back to the crowds, cannot see Jethro, but he can sense my sudden focus and I feel him tensing too.

Jethro’s hand suddenly balls into a fist. The countdown is over and I do not hesitate. Turning and praying that no one is approaching from the street side, I raise my leg and with one swift, well-placed kick, the door flies open, ricocheting off the inside wall. Before it can close again, we are through it, pushing it almost shut so that unless anyone is really paying attention, it appears closed from the outside. I leave Brett to wait for Jethro, who will join us as soon as the coast is clear again, and immediately check the corridor we are standing in, on high alert for any danger. It’s strikingly obvious that this section of the Pedway is new. The grey epoxy floors and white concrete walls are pristine, and there are ‘authorised personnel only’ signs mounted on the walls at 20-yard intervals. The fluorescent tube lights cast an eerie, white glow.

My attention is diverted by Jethro’s arrival.

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so,” he says as Brett closes the door. “Any sign of surveillance?”

“Not that I can see, but I guess we’ll soon find out.”

I secure my rucksack more firmly over my shoulder and walk in the direction of the Plaza, the only sound our soft footfalls on the polished floor.

“You guys ready?” I ask when we reach the door that obviously leads into the Plaza. I pull my hair back and secure it with the band that I keep around my wrist. We are still theoretically underground, and from what I remember of the blueprints I am fairly certain we will enter in the basement.

“I was born ready,” Brett jests.

“I guess it’s too much to hope that we’ll get in and out without any bloodshed?” he asks and I shake my head.

We all know that we are likely to encounter a fair amount of resistance, and physical combat is highly probable. Not wanting to delay the inevitable, I grab the door by the handle and shoulder barge it. It caves under the force and I half-tumble into the familiar basement. This area is used as a parking garage, and a brief scan reveals no human presence, although I know from experience that there are guards at the boom-operated entrances. Crouching low to avoid detection, we skirt the length of cars along the east wall making for the elevators. The elevator will take us all the way to the 91st floor, but the main laboratory is on the 95th floor, inaccessible other than by the private elevator that services only the top nine floors. Eric’s office was on the 100th floor, but we do not need to get that high. I press the call button, and shift my weight from leg to leg as we wait. Never have I been in more danger of being caught than here at the Plaza. I spent three years married to Eric, three years as the First Lady. Most of the guards here at the Plaza will recognise my face, not too long ago they had sworn to protect me.

The soft ping announcing the elevator’s arrival has us all on edge, but when the doors open, the car is empty. We get in and I stab at the button for the 91st floor.

“So far so good,” Jethro murmurs and Brett starts to hum along with the annoyingly upbeat elevator music. We make it to the 32nd floor before the elevator comes to a sudden stop and we brace ourselves, but the admin clerk who enters is so engrossed in the reports that she is carrying, she gives us only a brief, vague nod and then buries her nose back in her work. There is an awkward silence until the elevator pings again at the 40th floor.

“Hey, Sandy,” a tall, ruggedly handsome man gets in and smiles down at the girl with the reports before turning to acknowledge us. His hair is fair and overlong and I am reminded painfully of Reed.

“You headed to the budget meeting?” he asks and the young woman nods, blushing slightly.

“I’m taking the minutes,” she replies.

He grins. “Use your longhand, it gives me more time to look at your legs.” Brett coughs to cover up a laugh at the cheesy line, and I glare at him as the couple turn to stare. Just as it seems they might question us, the elevator pings and they exit, turning to give Brett one last disapproving look before the doors close.

“What an ass,” Brett mutters.

I am about to retort when the elevator stops again and this time, to my horror, two familiar faces step into the confined space. Ray and Jenkins, two of Eric’s private security team, take one look at me and I realise the game is up. As the doors close, I lunge forward, grabbing the two men by the neck, and I bring their heads together with as much brute force as I can muster in the cramped confines of the elevator. Jenkins, a speed-Gifted soldier, is unconscious immediately, but Ray, the stronger of the two, staggers only slightly, and then his lips curl into an angry snarl. Jethro and Brett take a step back, knowing that they cannot help me, they are no match for a strong soldier in a small space. I bring my fist up and into Ray’s stomach, winding him, and, as he doubles over in pain, I bring my elbow down on the back of his neck. He drops like a stone to the floor.

“Now what?” Brett quips, and I can see the dilemma. If the doors open again and someone sees the two bodies on the floor, we are in huge trouble. Pulling the inert men to either side of the door panels, so that they will not be immediately visible, I straighten up just as the elevator pings again. Checking the display light, I see that we have reached the 82nd floor, only nine floors to go. A woman in her mid-forties steps briskly into the elevator, the doors closing as she turns around. It takes her only a second to register the two bodies on the floor, but as she opens her mouth to scream, I grab her from behind, pinning her arms to her side and clamping a hand over her mouth and nose. I keep applying pressure, and soon her frantic but pitiful attempts to shake me off grow weaker and she slumps in my arms, passed out.

Chapter 11

Thankfully the elevator car does not stop again until we reach the 91st floor. This floor is a maintenance level only and is relatively quiet. We hide the three unconscious bodies in a storeroom and lock them in. The traffic on this floor is low; they shouldn’t be discovered any time soon, and four floors below the blast zone, they should be out of harm’s way when the bombs detonate.

“Okay, where to from here?” Brett asks, his eyes alive with excitement.

“You’re really pumped about this, aren’t you?” Jethro asks and Brett grins.

“Risking our lives to save the world? Hell, yeah! Tim is going to be so pissed. Imagine the stories we’ll tell our grandchildren one day!”

“If we live to see them,” Jethro scoffs and turns to me for instructions.

“We can’t all use the ventilation system. You guys are too big, you’ll never fit.” I had used the ventilation system to reach Eric on the day of the final battle, and I had had to leave Reed behind that day for the same reason. It had almost cost me my life and I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.

“So, we take the elevator?”

“No.” Thanks to David and his blueprints, I now have information that I didn’t have before. There is a stairwell on the opposite side of the building, an emergency exit that services only the top nine floors of the building. The only problem is that it requires an authorised electronic entry card to access, and I am fairly certain that not many people are given that level of clearance. I explain this to the two men, and then I outline my plan.

“So, you two wait here, I’m going to get us that card.”

I sneak down the public stairwell to the floor below and duck into the first vacant office I come across.

I dial the extension I am looking for, hoping I remember it correctly.

“Crawford,” I sigh in relief as the curt, clipped voice comes through the receiver.

“Chase, it’s me.” There is a moment’s silence and then, “Rebecca?”

“Yes, it’s me. I need your help.”

“Where are you?”

“Come up to the 91st alone. I’m in trouble, Chase.” I inject just the right amount of desperation and vulnerability into my voice and then I set the receiver back on the cradle and retrace my steps.

“Get out of sight,” I order as I step back onto the maintenance floor, and without any hesitation Brett and Jethro disappear. It takes about five minutes, and when the elevator opens, I peek around the cubicle I am standing in. Damn the man! I wait for the elevator doors to close before I step around the partitioning.

“I told you to come alone,” I say contemptuously. Chase gapes at me disbelievingly, his blue eyes wide behind his glasses. I can’t believe he is still wearing them – there is nothing wrong with Chase Crawford’s eyesight; he only wears glasses because one of the prettier secretaries once told him they made him look distinguished. The soldier beside him looks at me menacingly and folds his arms across his massive chest.

“Rebecca, what are you doing here?” Chase reaches me in a few short strides, the soldier hot on his heels.

“I told you, I need your help.”

“Why, what’s going on? We haven’t been told anything. Eric is dead, and we were told . . .” He hesitates, his eyes searching my face. “We were told that you killed him.”

“We should call for back-up, sir,” the burly guard reaches for his two-way radio and I brace myself, but Chase holds up a hand.

“Just a minute,” he instructs authoritatively. “Let her explain. You can explain, can’t you?” he smiles encouragingly as he places his hands on my shoulders.

Resting my hands on his chest I smile up at him, making sure I have his undivided attention. Chase Crawford, a member of Eric’s Board of Directors, has been infatuated with me as long as I have known him.

“You were told the truth. I did kill Eric,” I answer, and I shove him aside as the brawny soldier lunges for me. Despite the man’s strength he is unconscious in less than ten seconds, and Jethro and Brett emerge to pull him into the storeroom with the others.

Chase is looking far less comfortable, and he starts to retreat, backing towards the elevator.

“Not so fast,” Jethro blocks his way, and Brett advances on him from the front.

“Rebecca . . .” he pleads and I hold out my arm to halt Brett’s progress.

“I need your key-card, Chase,” I extend my hand, palm upwards.

“My . . . what?”

“Your key-card. I need it. Now.”

“But . . . Eric . . .”

“The less you know, the better, Chase. Now, hand it over.” Seeing his hesitation I sigh dramatically. “Jethro?”

Jethro is at my side in an instant, the card in his hand. On seeing it, Chase pats down his pockets in alarm. He rushes at me and I have to give him credit for his bravery – or his foolishness. I stop him with a simple outstretched hand, and as he realises my strength, he stops trying to grab hold of me, his flailing arms dropping limply to his sides.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses and I pat his cheek fondly.

“I’m doing the right thing, Chase. Do me a favour and don’t go anywhere near the 95th floor, okay?”

“Why?”

“You’ll see. Thank you for coming when I needed you, you’re a good man.” I lean forward to hug him and, not wanting him to wake up with a headache, I turn him around and smother his nose and mouth, as I did with the woman in the elevator. The moment he passes out, I drag him into the storeroom. None of the others have stirred, so I lock the door behind me and head for the opposite side of the floor.

“I assume the lab will be heavily guarded?” Jethro asks as we race up the stairs.

“No doubt,” I answer honestly.

At the 95th floor landing I shrug off my rucksack and hand it to Brett, nodding at Jethro to do the same. “When we get in there, you stash these somewhere safe,” I order, ignoring his moan of protest, “then you help us. Got it?” He nods sulkily, not wanting to miss a moment of the action, but strategically this is the right call. Jethro is the superior soldier, he will be more use to me in the initial melee. I swipe the key-card and as the blinking light turns from red to green, I push against the door and take my first steps into the NUSA genetic laboratory.

The man nearest the door is wearing a white lab coat and he looks up as I enter, a confused expression on his face.

“What the . . .” he doesn’t finish the sentence. Jethro hits him square in the face and he flies back against a desk, knocking paper and stationery to the floor.

“Subtle,” I remark drily, as all the occupants of the room turn to stare at us. “Stop them,” I yell, pointing at a few lab coats who are rushing towards the private elevator. Jethro flies across the room, barring their way, and like sheep, they flock in the opposite direction. An ear-splitting wail rends the air and the red light above the elevator starts flashing.

“They’ve triggered the alarm, we need to move!” Brett hollers.

“Oh really?” I raise my eyebrows at him, my voice oozing sarcasm. “And here I thought they were throwing us a welcome party.”

Among the twenty or so people in the lab I pick out about six men wearing the dark blue of the NUSA army. I step forward, trying to draw their attention away from Brett, who is stowing the rucksacks under a desk near the stairwell. Five of the six come straight for me, moving with purpose, while one heads towards Jethro. Thankfully, they do not seem to have noticed Brett. I brace myself for the fight that is coming, standing on the balls of my feet. The five soldiers fan out around me, hemming me in. Keeping a cool head, I pick out one at random, a short red-headed man who, by the way he moves, seems to be speed-Gifted. I catapult towards him, grabbing his head as I fly past and jerking his body up and over my shoulders so he lands dazed at my feet. I lift my leg to land a crushing blow to his chest but I am hoisted into the air and dragged backwards, contained by two of the stronger men who have each taken hold of my arms from behind. I crouch forward, as low as I can get, trying to keep my centre of gravity, and then I launch my arms forward, throwing the two soldiers off me. They slide across the floor of the lab and into a surgical table. To my disappointment they rise almost immediately, but I do not have time to fret as I catch a punishing blow to my jaw. Spitting out blood, I turn to face my new opponent, an African-American man with a sadistic smile on his brutally handsome face. He’s taller than anyone I have ever seen, I have to really crane my neck to look up at him. I kick out, aiming for his abdomen, but he jumps back nimbly, surprisingly agile for such a giant of a man.

“Rebecca!” Brett’s warning comes too late and I take another pounding to the face, blood spurting from my nose to join the already metallic taste in my mouth. The fifth man has entered the fray. Heavy footfalls signal that the other two soldiers are also back, although the red-headed man is still on the ground. With a dramatic Tarzan yell, Brett slams the head of the soldier nearest me with the back of a chair, and he collapses to his knees. Brett turns the chair over and brings it down on his head, then repeats the motion again and again. Not wanting to witness the brutal end of the soldier, I turn back to the other three. The friend of Brett’s victim is temporarily distracted by the gruesome sight, and I use my speed to get behind him, snapping his neck like a twig.

The fifth man has flown across the room towards Jethro, who has subdued his own opponent and is smashing the elevator control panel to stop anyone from escaping. They will not get to the stairs which are just behind us, without having to get through the fighting, and the lab technicians are not mercenaries, they are staying at the opposite end of the room, as far from the fighting as possible. The tall black warrior shows his teeth, battle lust shining in his eyes. He appears unmoved by the death of his associates, and he crouches in a fighting stance, his arms weaving back and forth, waiting for an opening. I feint to the left and then bring my right leg down on his knee with a bone-splintering crack. He leans precariously to the left favouring the injured leg, and I use the sudden balance in our heights to land a well-aimed roundhouse kick to the right side of his face. He shakes his head and spits out a tooth, looking back at me with murder in his eyes as he draws a wicked-looking dagger from his belt. I am about to pounce on him, when I am hit broadside by another chair. It hardly hurts, and I glance around to see one of the lab technicians holding the offending object, his whole body trembling with fear. As I stare at him, he drops the chair and turns, fleeing in the opposite direction. Fighting the impulse to roll my eyes, I turn back but the warrior is gone.

“Where . . .” I turn full circle, but he is nowhere to be seen.

Brett is heaving with exertion but is unharmed, and when I catch Jethro’s eye he gives me a thumbs-up, both soldiers lying dead at his feet. Still scanning the room for the missing soldier, I nod at Brett to retrieve the rucksacks. There is no time to waste, the alarm is still blaring and it won’t be long before NUSA reinforcements arrive. The disappearance of the African-American has me concerned, but right now my primary objective is to arm the bombs. Leaving Jethro to stand guard over the crouching prisoners, we carefully extract all the canisters one by one, and then I pull the detonating cords from the bottom of the bags.

“You remember how to attach them, right?” I ask Brett.

“Yeah,” he answers, expertly fusing the first bomb. I set to work beside him and in no time at all, all fifteen bombs are ready.

‘Okay, so once we set the fuse, we have four or five minutes, tops,” I call across the room so that Jethro can hear me too. “We take the stairs, it’ll be quicker than the elevator, anyway.”

“What about them?” Jethro asks, indicating the group clustered together at his feet.

“They only need to get to the 91st floor; they can leave after us,” I leave Brett with the pipe-bombs and walk across the room to address our prisoners.

“When we leave here, you have five minutes before this place is going to blow to hell,” I instruct, ignoring the shock and horror on their faces. “You’ll never make it out of the building in time, so I suggest you get to the 91st floor. You’ll be safe there, these bombs won’t damage any level but this one . . .” I am in the middle of speaking when Jethro blurs beside me and I turn to see the African-American soldier standing over Brett, who is double-checking the detonation fuses. Helpless, I watch as he raises the wicked-looking dagger and plunges it into Brett’s back, his evil black eyes meeting mine as he turns it swiftly, tearing through flesh and bone. With a howl of rage, I fly forward, reaching him only a second behind Jethro, who grabs hold of one arm and tries in vain to pull him backwards. I leap from a few yards away and land on his shoulders, grabbing his head and twisting it savagely in my hands, completely severing his spinal cord. I crash down on his lifeless body and roll off, coming to a skidding halt beside Brett, who is gasping for breath and arching his body, his arms stretching behind him as he tries in vain to stem the bleeding.

“You won’t reach,” I tell him, ripping off my white fleece, I bundle it up into a ball and press it firmly against the wound.

“It’s his lung,” I meet Jethro’s eyes over Brett’s head. I close my eyes trying to think of anything I can do, but Jethro shakes his head at me.

“You guys better go,” Brett pants. “I’ll make sure they detonate.”

“No.”

“We don’t have much time, Rebecca, they’ll send reinforcements any second.” Jethro sounds resigned, but there is something else, as though he is struggling to keep it together himself. “What if they stop him?” he asks, indicating the lab personnel cowering in the far corner.

“They won’t,” Brett hisses, determined, but in a split second I make my decision.

“We’ll take them down with us, to the 91st.”

Jethro rests his hand briefly on Brett’s shoulder, and then he races back towards the prisoners, shepherding them ahead of him, towards the stairs.

“Tell Tim, will you,” he stammers, and I look at him quizzically, not following his meaning.

“That I saved the day,” he winks, “that I’m a legend. That’ll really piss him off.” He laughs harshly, an ominous wheeze emanating from his chest and then his face contorts with pain.

“I’ll see you around, Rebecca,” he smiles.

“I’ll see you,” I smile, my eyes filling with tears. I kiss his temple and then I go to join the others.

“The clock starts now,” Jethro leads the way, and I take up the rear of the group who offer no resistance. Getting down the four floors to the 91st floor is agonisingly slow; despite their frenzy to get to safety, these are just ordinary people, with ordinary capabilities. Although we are out of harm’s way with regard to the actual blast, we will have only a few minutes, if that, after the bombs detonate before the entire building is placed on lockdown. If that happens we will never make it out.

We barge through the door on the 91st floor and the lab techs fan out, trying to get as far from us as possible, taking refuge under desks and inside cubicles.

“Uh-oh,” Jethro indicates the storeroom, which is open and empty. A quick scan shows that the two soldiers who were locked in it are not on this level – they have probably already gone for help.

“Let’s just go,” I turn back to the door and see a grey jacket disappearing around the corner.

“Chase!” I yell, streaking after him. Chase is already heading for the stairs up to the lab level. Cursing, I race after him. I reach him only one flight up, hoist him over my shoulder and descend again. I am about to set him down in the storeroom again and lock the door, when Jethro interrupts me.

“How valuable is he?”

“Chase? I don’t know, he’s on the Board of Dane Corp, he’s probably pretty important, why?”

“Bring him. At least if we get cornered, we have something to trade.” I can’t fight the logic in this so, hitting Chase hard enough to knock him out, I shift his weight more comfortably over my shoulder and fly out of the door, Jethro right behind me.

We race down the stairs, the alarm sirens still blaring, Jethro keeping a keen eye out for any soldiers coming the opposite way. We have almost reached the 60th floor when we hear the explosion. Giving only a moment’s thought to Brett and the sacrifice he has made, I keep going, my feet flying beneath me as I scurry down towards the lower levels. The explosion seems to act as a catalyst to the NUSA defence and they all seem to be going in the same direction, up to the lab. Every time Jethro sees them coming up the stairs, we exit the stairwell and take refuge on a quieter floor until they have passed.

We have almost reached the 20th floor, and are just a few short storeys away from escape when I hear his voice.

“Rebecca!” I freeze, lose my footing and start to fall, but Jethro grabs my vest from behind and pulls me back upright. I drop Chase, who tumbles only a few steps to the next landing, his glasses falling off in the process. My eyes wide with incredulity, I turn to look back up the stairwell, taking a few steps up, unable to believe what I am seeing.

“That’s impossible,” Jethro breathes behind me.

Leaning over the railing a few floors up, Reed grins down at me, his shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes. My heart thudding in my chest, I sprint back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Reed has disappeared, he is obviously coming down to us, and about ten floors up, I screech around a landing and he is standing there, filthy and covered in dried blood, but alive. And he is not alone. He is holding on to my father, who looks a little thinner and seems to have quite a lot more grey in his dark hair, but other than that he seems none the worse for his experience.

“I told you I’d find him,” Reed drawls, and I burst into hysterical laughter, grabbing both of them in a bone-crushing hug.

Chapter 12

There is no time to discuss how they came to be here, and we hurtle down the stairs again, Jethro, Reed and my father nodding only briefly at each other in greeting.

‘Who’s the spare?” Reed nods at Chase’s unconscious body sprawled on the landing.

“Collateral,” I answer, feeling ridiculously happy now that he is here, despite the gravity of our situation. “We might need him.”

Reed hoists Chase over his own shoulder and we keep descending, bursting out of the stairwell and into the basement, which is, thankfully, deserted. We find the door leading into the Pedway and, our feet pounding against the polished floor, we race towards the public section.

“One small question,” my dad pants as we reach the door and he doubles over to catch his breath, “don’t you think someone might just notice him?” He waves his hand at Chase’s body slumped over Reed’s shoulder. Reed drops him unceremoniously to the floor.

“Problem solved,” he shrugs.

“Chase is on the Board, he’s Joseph Hale’s right-hand man,” my dad speaks up. “He probably has a lot of information we could use.” The implied meaning is clear, we need to take him with us, if at all possible.

“Probably,” I agree, weighing up our options. “Jethro, you know the way back, right?” At his nod, I continue, “Okay, you take my dad and get back to the tunnels. Remember he’s nowhere near as fast as you, so just be casual, get back to the Macy’s basement, we’ll meet you there.”

Jethro shrugs out of his black hoodie and hands it to Reed. It goes some way to hiding his torn and bloodied clothing, and hopefully it will be dark enough that no one will notice what we can’t hide.

My dad gives me one last, brief hug and then they push through the door. It closes behind them with a gentle click.

“You think they’ll make it?” I ask, avoiding his eyes, and I can hear the smile in Reed’s voice.

“I think we’re the ones you should be worrying about, Tiny.”

“Okay, ready?” I ask, lifting Chase and supporting him with my right arm. Reed comes around his other side and does the same with his left.

“Let’s go.”

Staggering through the Pedway, which is far quieter than before, it being after midnight, we avoid making eye contact with the few people walking by and hope that our ruse is working. Reed and I are both laughing uproariously and staggering slightly, trying to give the impression that we have had too much to drink.

“I told him not to have that last tequila,” I chuckle, earning myself a filthy look from a passing couple. We make it to Macy’s without much trouble and as we enter the basement I start to feel relief coursing through my veins.

David, Jethro and my father are waiting at the fire-door, and they take Chase from Reed as we come through it. My dad grabs hold of me and pulls me against his chest, even though it’s been only a few minutes.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Bex,” he murmurs into my hair.

“What happened?” I ask, searching his face. “What happened when we left you after the battle?”

“Let’s get back to the tunnels,” David prompts, not unkindly. “I know you have a lot to talk about, but the sooner we get back to the Toledo camp the better. They know we’re here now and we can’t be certain that none of you were followed.”

He’s right; we need to keep moving. NUSA will be on high alert, it’s going to be even harder getting out of the States than it was getting in.

“Okay,” I nod, “let’s get back to the others, we can regroup and plan from there.”

David throws Chase across his shoulders and we follow him as he leads the way. I avoid meeting Reed’s gaze; now is not the time to talk. We need to focus on getting safely out of Chicago.

“Okay,” David lowers Chase to the ground and indicates the packed rucksacks. “We may as well get going; I don’t think we should hang around here a minute longer than we have to. With any luck they’ll be searching the streets and any roadblocks should be well within the tunnel radius. They won’t expect us to get as far as the river, but we need to hurry. They will extend the search eventually.” Nobody argues, his logic makes perfect sense.

“How are you doing?” I ask Gabe, who is sitting in the same spot as when we left, hours earlier.

“I’ll be okay,” he replies hollowly.

“What do we do with him?” Reed indicates Chase, who is starting to regain consciousness.

I bend over him, shaking him slightly. He sits up with a start, his hand coming immediately to his head.

“Rebecca?” he asks, confusion in his tone. “Where are we?”

“We’re under the city.” I offer him a bottle of water and he gulps it down greedily. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he regards me contemplatively.

“So, it’s true? You’re working for the Resistance?”

“Not exactly,” I smile. “I am the Resistance.”

“We’ll take him with us.” I stand abruptly, and Chase gets unsteadily to his feet.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Gabe calls, his voice suddenly heavy with emotion. “The last time we took a hostage it didn’t end so well.”

“I’m sorry about Marcus,” I reply, knowing that no apology will ever be enough, “but we may need him.” I bend to retrieve my rucksack, hoisting it over my shoulder and nodding at David, “Let’s go.”

We emerge from the tunnels and cover the manhole, dragging some debris and building rubble over the exposed shaft, and then we head back towards the bridge. In the faint light of dawn I see that Reed is practically black with dust and soot, and I can only imagine what he must have gone through after the explosion. His clothes are torn in a number of places, and his arms and face are marked with dried blood.

“How did you get out?” I murmur, half to myself. I still can’t believe he survived the explosion in the tunnels.

“When I realised what was about to happen I ran like hell,” he answers diffidently. “I still didn’t manage to completely escape the cave-in though, and the blast itself was agony.” I nod sympathetically, my injuries were bad enough and I was much further away from the detonation – thanks to him.

“You saved my life.” I meet his eyes briefly before looking back at my feet. He is regarding me thoughtfully, but he doesn’t acknowledge my words and just continues with his story.

“When I came to, I was buried under the debris, but not so deep that I couldn’t pull my way out.” True to form, he completely downplays the monumental effort this must have cost him, if his appearance is anything to go by. “The worst part was finding my way out of those damn tunnels.” He grins. “I have a new appreciation for your dear David.”

“You saved my life,” I repeat, seriously, still finding it difficult to meet his eyes. “You could have died.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not get carried away, Tiny, don’t think it makes you special.” He shrugs it off, smiling, and then turns back to the others.

Chase walks calmly between Jethro and Reed, looking only mildly interested in what is going on around him.

“I need your phone,” I hold out my hand, and he reaches into the breast pocket of his grey jacket and hands me his mobile. I crush it in my hand and throw it into a nearby bush before turning to Gabe. “Can you get us a car?”

“No problem.” Gabe walks off and I ask Jethro to follow him.

Gabe and Jethro return with a dark blue sedan and the seven of us pile into it. We lock Chase in the trunk and Jethro drives, David beside him navigating. Reed and Gabe sit on either side of the back seat, near the windows, and I perch in the middle, on my father’s lap, holding on to the seats in front of me and trying to make myself as light as possible.

“Relax, Bex,” my dad laughs. “You weigh nothing and we have a long way to go.”

Blushing slightly, I relax my position and put more of my weight down.

“So, what happened, Dad?”

“I really have no idea.” He knows exactly what I am asking. “One minute we were explaining to the crowds what had happened and the next we were surrounded by NUSA soldiers. It was almost as if it had been planned, like they knew we were coming. Joseph Hale arrived and accused us of treason, and we were thrown into the back of an SUV and taken to Eric’s mansion.”

I am listening intently to every word, but I am also scouring the streets for danger. Driving in the full light of day is not wise, but we need to get as far from the Plaza as possible before they have time to regroup and the city is locked down.

“We spent only a few days there. They tried to torture information from us, not very effectively, to be honest.”

“You and the VP?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That we had a base in Mexico City but that I hadn’t been there. I don’t think they believed me,” he adds wryly. “Anyway, when they realised they weren’t going to get any concrete information out of me, they moved me to the lab and told me I had to assist with the procedures.” He sighs, looking me directly in the eye. “I had to do it, Bex. I’m sorry, but they backed me into a corner.”

“Did they threaten Mr Williams?”

“How do you know that?”

“I figured it had to be something pretty dramatic to get you to go along with them. The VP was the only thing they had to use against you. Do you have any idea where he is now?”

My father looks crestfallen. “No. I only saw him once after they moved me to the Plaza. I was having a bad day, told them to stuff their research. They figured I needed reminding of what was at stake, so they paraded him in, pushed him around. I tried to call their bluff, but then they really started to hurt him . . .” his voice breaks with emotion and I put my arm around him.

“It’s not your fault, Dad.”

“Twenty-eight years,” he whispers. “Twenty-eight years we’ve been together. I’ve been protecting Kenneth Williams most of my adult life.”

“We’ll find him, you have my word. This is not over, Dad. I promise you, one way or another, we’ll find him.”

“The day you were captured,” Reed breaks the silence and we turn to face him, “why did you enter the States with no security?”

“I’m not sure I follow?” My dad sounds slightly confused at the line of questioning but Reed doesn’t back down.

“The day of the battle, when you and the VP came into the States. You came alone – no security, no guards. Why would you do that?”

“We never suspected there would be any resistance; Dane’s army was defeated, we assumed that it was safe.”

“Assumed?” Reed challenges and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I . . .” My father trails off, looking perplexed.

“Dad,” I interrupt, “did the General send you into the States without security? He says you declined any guards.”

“Why on earth would we decline guards?” He seems perplexed. “I don’t know, it all happened so fast. We made a mistake, obviously. Why do you ask?”

I take a deep breath. “Do you think the General could have had anything to do with your capture?”

“No,” he answers immediately. “I trust Harrison with my life. There’s no way he would double-cross us.” I don’t argue, but I can see by the set of Reed’s jaw that he is not convinced.

Chapter 13

By the time we have crossed through Indiana into Michigan and reached the Ottawa River, my legs and back are aching from being perched in the same position for so long. Taking cover in the trees not far from the river bank, we try to evaluate how we are going to get back out of the States to Toledo. We had planned our destruction of the lab with such precision but had not really established our exit plan.

“As far as I can tell, we have two problems,” Reed points out. “One, no distraction. The guards will see us for sure when we pass the boundary fence.”

“And the other problem?” I ask.

“We’re not salmon, Tiny. Swimming upstream is going to be a hell of a lot harder than coming down with the current.”

I assess the group. Of the six of us, only Reed, David and I are strong enough to make the swim. Jethro’s speed is not going to help him through the water and Gabe and my father will never make it without assistance.

“How many guards do you reckon we’re looking at?” I ask Jethro, who has spent most of the afternoon scouting the area and watching the boundary fences, getting an idea of the soldiers’ movements.

“About twenty, give or take. Of course the longer it takes us, the more time there’ll be for the other guards to get here; they’ll come down the fence line as soon as the alarm is raised.”

“Twenty,” I gnaw at my lip, trying to figure out a plan. “How long until their reinforcements arrive?”

“Probably no more than five or ten minutes for the fastest wave.”

“You can’t seriously think we could fight our way through?” David asks but I ignore the question. “They’ll know,” he sounds frantic, “they’ll know we were here, that this is how we came in. I thought we needed to be discreet, that was part of the plan. If they see us, there’s no way we can get back in again. Ever.”

“We needed to get in undetected, to be sure nobody stopped us,” Reed corrects. “Getting out is just that: getting out. It doesn’t really matter if they know, so long as they can’t stop us.”

“But they can stop us. Mr Davis, Gabe, they’ll never escape down the river.”

“Exactly.” I grin and Reed shakes his head as he realises what my plan is.

We wait until midnight, when the night is at its blackest, and the guards manning the fences will be tired enough to start making mistakes. Hopefully.

“This has got to be the most insane idea you have ever come up with,” Reed grumbles as we swim upstream, our arms cutting through the water and bringing us closer and closer to the fences.

“Worse than taking on the Dane Army outnumbered?”

“Okay, maybe the second most insane idea.”

“What about blowing up the NUSA lab in the most high-security building in the States?”

“Okay, okay, point taken, no need to brag.”

“I’m not bragging, I know this is going to work.”

“Oh really? And the reason you’re so sure of yourself?”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m sure of you.” His silence is absolute, and I smile in the dark. I’m not lying, not flattering him. With Reed by my side, I feel that anything is possible, that nothing can hurt me. He won’t allow it.

I glance back, squinting through the darkness, trying to establish where we entered the water. I can vaguely make out the three shadows standing on the river bank. As I watch, they turn and move away from the water’s edge, towards the road.

“They’d better move it,” I murmur, spitting out a mouthful of water.

“They’ll be fine, you need to focus.” He’s right and I shift my attention back to the boundary fence which is almost in view.

“You ready?” Reed asks.

“Let’s do this,” I answer, my words drowned by the sudden wail of a siren.

“That’s our cue, Sexy Bex,” he swims to the shore and we emerge from the river at a run, heading straight for the horde of soldiers swarming towards us.

We are still knee-deep in water when the first wave is upon us. I dispatch my first two opponents with little effort, but the third lands a painful blow to my right knee.

“Son of a bitch.” I turn on him and return the favour. I hear the splintering of bone as I drive the heel of my foot down hard on his kneecap. I sweep my leg beneath him and he crashes to the ground, water spraying in all directions. Reed has already made it to dry ground and is unleashing his fury on a multitude of men at once. One by one they drop to the ground. Grabbing hold of another soldier, I spin him around and hold him against my body so that he takes the brunt of a brutal blow from one of his associates. Dropping the incapacitated man to the ground, I grab the assailant and bring his head down hard as I lift my knee. There is a sickening crunch and the blood from his nose and mouth sprays the front of my grey vest.

On and on we wage our two-man battle against at least ten times as many opponents. A quick glance confirms that our plan is working, the soldiers are so preoccupied with us that they have left this section of the fence entirely undefended. Over the clamour of the battle, I hear the deep roar of an engine and a moment later the dark blue sedan roars out of the darkness, hurtling straight towards the boundary fence. I spare a moment’s sympathy for poor Chase, who is no doubt being tossed around in the trunk like a rag doll. Too late, the nearest soldiers realise that our fight is a diversion and they try to stop the speeding car. One is foolish enough to stand in the path of the oncoming vehicle and it hits him head-on, slamming him into the fence before he is flipped over the hood, landing in a crumpled heap behind the sedan in a spray of dust. The boundary fences are designed to act as a barrier – a deterrent to anyone approaching from the barren lands, but it is the presence of the NUSA soldiers that make them inaccessible. The fence itself is no match for the force of the moving car and, as it crashes through, the entire section between two of the concrete posts is ripped away, flying over the sedan and landing in the dirt just beyond the fence line. I catch Reed’s eye as the car fishtails dangerously and then heads out into the Rebeldom.

“Time to go!” he roars, now that the others are out, and I don’t hesitate. I quickly overpower the soldier I am fighting and sprint after the sedan, Reed right behind me. Not even the fastest NUSA soldier could catch us, Gifted as we are, and we have soon put enough distance between us and the Michigan boundary fence to be able to relax.

We reach the Toledo camp just after the others, and I immediately extract Chase from the trunk of the blue sedan. He looks ridiculously out of place in his grey suit and tie and he has a large bruise on his right cheek, no doubt a result of his bumpy ride.

“Where the hell are we?” he demands to know.

“We’re in the barren lands. Ohio, to be exact.”

“Are you insane? The barren lands are toxic, Rebecca, we’ll die out here!”

“We’ll survive,” I nod at Jethro, who is standing nearby, keeping a close watch. “Lock him up,” I order. We are still too close to NUSA to risk Chase getting away from us.

“Try to get some rest,” I say calmly, ignoring Chase’s cry of protest as Jethro ties his hands behind his back. “I’ll come and see you in the morning.”

I go in search of the others and gratefully accept the cup of coffee that Veronica holds out as I pass the kitchen.

“You’re a godsend,” I thank her, and she smiles, her eyes following Jethro as he marches Chase down the hall.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she adds, suddenly remembering that I am standing there. “I’m sure you’re all starving.”

I take my steaming mug and enter the strategy room where the atmosphere is positively euphoric.

“We did it!” Jethro displays uncharacteristic exuberance and practically lifts me off my feet in a crushing bear-hug. David is packing away his maps and blueprints, a grin stretching from ear to ear. Reed claps him on the back, almost hard enough to knock him to the ground.

“Well done, Specs,” he laughs, and David takes it in good humour. Reed turns to me and there is an awkward moment, neither of us knowing quite what to do.

“Where’s Brett?” Tim asks, and the atmosphere changes immediately.

I take a deep breath and face him. “He didn’t make it,” I answer. “I’m sorry. Nor did Marcus,” I add, casting a glance at Gabe, who is sitting quietly at the table, an untouched cup of coffee cooling in front of him.

Morgan enters the room and I smile at her, relieved that she didn’t come with us and that she is okay. She barely spares me a glance.

“Where’s the Vice-President?” she asks and my dad shakes his head.

“We don’t know, I haven’t seen him in months.” The guilt etched on his face tugs at my heartstrings and I link my arm through his.

“Walk with me?”

We walk out into the starry night. The air is cool and I shiver slightly, pulling closer to my dad and basking in his warmth.

“I was so worried about you,” I murmur and he ruffles my hair.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“What have I missed?”

“Not much. Until the decision to blow up the lab we didn’t really know what to do, we were just making assumptions, trying to figure out what happened. I let everyone down,” I admit ashamedly. “All I could think about was you. And Aidan. I wasted four months, Dad.”

“Bex,” he pulls me closer to him, “don’t, just don’t,” he repeats as I open my mouth to insist. “You’re only human. You need to grieve, just like the rest of us. And from what I saw back there, it looks like you’ve made up for lost time.” He smiles at me and again I feel the euphoria of blowing up the lab.

“Someone has taken over where Eric left off,” my dad is talking again, “but I don’t for one second believe that Joseph Hale has the gumption or the drive.”

“Agreed,” I sigh. “Eric tried to warn me, but I just didn’t stop to listen.”

“What?” My father was captured shortly after I murdered my husband, he has no idea what happened in Eric’s office that day.

“He told me, just before he died, that he wasn’t the one pulling the strings, that I had another enemy. I just didn’t believe him. If I had taken the time to listen we might not be in this position. You and the VP might never have been captured.”

“No, Bex,” his voice is firm, “there are no ‘what-ifs’. You did what you thought was right. Eric was a monster, responsible for the murder of countless innocents. Don’t have any regrets, they’ll eat at you from the inside.”

“He killed Aidan,” I murmur, and I feel the strength of my anger overwhelming the guilt.

“Exactly. You have nothing to feel bad about. Anyone else would have done exactly the same in your situation.”

“Tell that to the General.” My dad laughs, the gruff sound music to my ears.

“Is Harrison giving you a hard time?”

“He’s pretty pissed that I didn’t let Eric live, given what we could have learned. He’s also finally got his way, he’s creating new Gifted soldiers as we speak.”

“What?” His tone is incredulous.

“I don’t like it either, but with the sheer numbers that NUSA has, we have to level the playing field or we haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this war.”

“Well, destroying the lab will ensure that NUSA can’t Gift any new soldiers. You saw to that,” he adds proudly.

“And with you back home, at least our soldiers will have a higher chance of survival undergoing the procedures.” He doesn’t argue, he is not prone to false modesty.

“You really trust the General?” I ask as we change course and walk back to the camp.

He turns to face me, the silver moonlight illuminating only half of his face.

“I do, Bex. I really do. Whoever it is that’s working against you, it’s not Harrison Ross. Trust me.”

Chapter 14

The modest soup and bread that Veronica has prepared is heavenly considering how famished we are. Now that we have successfully completed our mission and my adrenalin levels have dropped, I feel exhausted. Wilting at the table, I push my chair back and get to my feet. Reed, sitting opposite me, eyes me thoughtfully. We have not said a word to each other since we arrived back at camp, and there is an uncomfortable tension building between us. My newly discovered feelings for Reed are waging an inner war with my lifelong love for Aidan, and my mind is in turmoil, filled with both guilt and possibility.

“We’ll leave for home tomorrow. Mid-morning,” I add, smiling at the appalled faces. “I think we’ve all earned a well-deserved lie-in.”

After a chorus of goodnights I go to the bathroom where Veronica has prepared a warm bath. I stand in the centre of the room, holding on to the basin and staring at my reflection in the mirror. My startling grey eyes stare back at me, black shadows below them reflecting the toll the last few days has taken. My dark hair is still tied back and I pull out the elastic so that it cascades down my back. I put a hand up to the back of my neck, rolling it back and forth, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders.

I contemplate the bath water for a moment. It is so inviting that I just want to lie down in it and go to sleep. Sighing, I turn to the door and pull it open, and I give a start of fright. Reed is standing in the doorway, his hand raised, about to knock.

“Hi,” is all he says.

“I was just coming to find you.”

“What for?”

“You’re filthy,” I gesture at his torn, bloodied clothes. “You should go first.” I wave over my shoulder at the filled bath.

“Nah, I’m fine.” He shakes his head and dust and tiny stones fly from his hair in all directions. “I’ll wait,” he insists.

“Okay.” Suddenly shy and not wanting to broach the subject of what is happening between us, I shut the door.

Feeling selfish, I bath quickly, washing my hair and my body, and then I wrap myself in a well-worn, slightly scratchy towel. Not wanting to put on my dirty clothes, I open the door and peek down the corridor in both directions before I scuttle to my room and close the door behind me. The camp is quiet, everyone seems to have retired to their rooms for the night. I can hear the faint clinking of Veronica washing up in the kitchen, but other than that everything is still and silent.

I give another shriek of fright when I turn and see Reed lounging on my bed.

“You have got to stop doing that,” I giggle nervously. “I need to get dressed,” I add pointedly, looking around the room and deliberately avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t let me stop you.” He gets wearily to his feet.

“Did you need something?” I ask before he leaves.

“No. Actually, yes.” He tries to get me to meet his eyes. “What’s up with you?”

“Me?” I smile in confusion.

“You won’t look at me, you seem different.”

“Do I?” He has no idea how different I am now that I have had to confront my feelings. He stares at me as if trying to read my mind. I have to tell him, I know I do. But not like this. Not standing here wrapped in this hideous towel, with my sopping wet hair and bruised body. I feel incredibly vulnerable and I won’t be able to find the words.

“Never mind.” He sighs and turns to leave.

“Wait,” I say, covering my face with my hands and rubbing my eyes in exasperation. “To hell with it.” I step quickly towards him, stopping only when my body touches his. Throwing my arms around his neck, I pull his head down to meet mine, kissing him on and on in the darkened room. Eventually we pull apart and I have to smile at the look on his face.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cowboy,” I say, turning to fetch my clothes. As I take a step away, he snatches my hand and yanks me back, my body spinning a full one-eighty degrees and colliding once more with his, before his hands find my face and he kisses me back with a lot more heat and passion than before.

“I should go and clean up,” he murmurs against my mouth, but I know I can’t let him leave. This has gone on for far too long, and my body is reacting of its own accord. I take his hand and lead him to the bed.

“You can do that later,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion and longing. Unwrapping the towel, I drop it to the floor in a pool at my feet. Reed’s sharp intake of breath sets my heart racing.

“What are you doing, Rebecca?” he asks hesitantly, and I smile, feeling comfortable and familiar, knowing in my heart that this is right. Reed will not act, he will not initiate this. He is far too aware and respectful of my feelings for Aidan. But Aidan is gone and I’m tired of playing games. I want Reed; I can’t deny it any longer.

“I’m doing what you don’t have the guts to do,” I tease, stepping forward and into his arms.

“Oh really,” he drawls in my ear, his mouth moving down my neck to my shoulder. “We’ll see about that,” and he lifts me in his arms and tosses me onto the bed, his eyes sparkling wickedly.

“That water is going to be icy,” I say, much later.

“It was worth it.” He kisses my nose and eases himself off the bed. I gaze hungrily at his naked body. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, but it’s the first time I have really appreciated it and what it’s capable of.

“Jeez, Tiny, stop staring, you’re making me self-conscious.” He throws his filthy T-shirt at me and I toss it aside, laughing. I pull on a clean pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved cream cotton shirt and follow him into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

“Ouch, that is cold,” he cringes as he climbs into the bath.

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, sinking down onto the floor, my back against the bathroom door.

“So,” he says, soaping the wash-cloth, “where exactly are we?”

“Hmmm,” I purse my lips thoughtfully. “Toledo, Ohio. Population, zero according to NUSA. Nine, according to us.”

“Cute,” he grins, and then turns serious again. “What’s going on here, Bex? What changed?”

“I thought you were dead. I thought you had died in that explosion.”

“And?”

“And I realised I didn’t want to live without you.”

“Didn’t want to? Couldn’t would have been far more romantic.”

“But not the truth. It’s amazing what you can live through.” I stare unseeingly into space and he sounds defeated.

“You’re speaking from experience.”

“I loved him,” I admit, truthfully. “I thought I couldn’t live without him, but I did. I have.”

“If he were here we wouldn’t be having this conversation?” he asks, but it sounds less like a question and more a statement of fact.

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“I don’t,” I insist. “It would be a lie to say that my feelings for you are a recent development. They were there, right from the start.”

“But he was your first love.”

“Yes. And Alex’s father. I loved Aidan my whole life. I will always love him.”

He rinses the soap from his hair, letting my statement hang, and then he wipes the water out of his eyes and meets my gaze levelly.

“And how do you feel about me?”

I cannot help the smile that stretches across my face. Reed is crazy and brave and strong, and he is my equal in every respect.

“I didn’t realise until that cave-in in the tunnels, or maybe I did, but I didn’t want to admit it. It’s funny how you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” My voice breaks slightly.

“I’m here,” he soothes, his features uncharacteristically soft. Then he grins, stands up and pulls a towel from the pile.

“You know, it sounds like you’re a little bit in love with me, Tiny,” he teases and I get to my feet, gazing up into his beautiful green eyes.

“No, Cowboy, not a little. A lot,” I say, meaning every word. “I’m a lot in love with you.”

When I wake in the morning Reed’s arm is draped over my naked hips, and his soft snores behind me make me so absurdly happy that I press my face into the pillow to stop myself from laughing. I ease out of the bed, pulling on my sweat pants and a grey hoodie, and make my way to the kitchen area where Veronica is making coffee. I wonder idly if she ever sleeps.

“Thank you,” I take the proffered mug and walk outside. It’s raining, and the sky is dark and gloomy. “Nice day for it,” I murmur to myself, heading to the garage. My dad and David are already there, checking the fuel and supplies and packing the Jeep and the Discovery. I kiss my father good morning.

“We should be ready to go within the hour,” David says.

“That’s perfect, thanks.” David has really come into his own, I think. He is far more confident and assured than the first day I met him, when he was intimidated by his own wife.

“Do you miss your family when you’re away?” I ask, and he looks slightly uncomfortable.

“I miss the kids,” he admits, finally.

“And your wife?”

“Well, we’re um . . . we’re kind of divorced.”

“Divorced?” I almost choke on my coffee. In the Rebeldom we do not have any legal system, certainly none that would issue a decree of divorce.

“Not on paper, obviously,” he hastens to explain, “but it wasn’t working out, so we’re not together any more.”

“I’m sorry.” The words hardly seem adequate, but I have no idea what else to say.

“It’s better this way,” he says and, remembering how the two argued, I don’t disagree.

“It’s funny how things don’t work out,” I say, just as Reed enters the room. He walks straight over to me and kisses the top of my head.

“It’s funny how they do,” David remarks drily, and he and my father exchange a knowing glance.

“Good morning, Chase,” I smile down at him. “You shouldn’t sulk, it doesn’t become you.”

“People are going to come looking for me,” he warns.

“They’ll probably come looking for me long before you,” I point out. “I’m pretty sure I outrank you on their Most Wanted list.”

“You killed Eric,” he says, bristling with indignation and disgust.

“Oh, don’t get all hot under the collar. And drop the concerned friend charade, we both know you couldn’t stand Eric,” I add. Realising I have called his bluff he changes tack.

“Rebecca,” he oozes charm and smarminess, “you and I go back; we have history. I can’t believe this is what you really want; to hold me against my will.” I don’t answer, and he mistakes this for empathy.

“You need to take me home. My life is in danger out here, so is yours. Why don’t you take me back and we can straighten all this out?”

“How do you suppose we do that?” I feign curiosity and he seizes the opportunity.

“I’m a powerful man. I have a lot of contacts. Whatever you may have done, I can protect you, but not out here.”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“Rebecca, you’ve obviously been brainwashed by the Resistance. They want our resources, our land, our water supplies, but they have no idea how to sustain them. They will destroy the States and everything we have worked so hard to build. I can’t believe that is what you really want; for our civilisation to crumble. The monsters that have survived out here in the barren lands will bring disease and genetic deformities and chaos into our society. They need to be stamped out. The boundary fences ensure our survival.”

“Chase, you’re regurgitating the same bullshit I’ve been fed since middle school: Eric’s propaganda, designed to keep us fearful and stop us from asking questions. I don’t blame you, I believed it myself for most of my life, until I actually travelled outside the borders and saw the truth with my own eyes. The survivors out here are not monsters. They’re people, human beings, just like us. Yes, there are some that are dangerous, the Deranged and the Rados do exist, but it’s NUSA’s fault. We abandoned America. Why concentrate on the ten NUSA states when there are forty more beyond the fences in desperate need of our help? These people are starving, with no education or medical care. Every single day is a struggle for survival . . .” I realise that I am becoming too emotional and I do not want to give Chase any specific information that could come back to haunt me. He cannot know about our headquarters, not yet, anyway. His mouth is a tight, grim line and his expression is pure scepticism.

“Who is controlling NUSA now?” I question, getting to the point.

“Joseph Hale,” he answers honestly.

“Hale is an idiot; he’s not the man behind the scenes. What do you know?”

“What are you talking about?” He looks genuinely bewildered and I curse under my breath. Chase doesn’t have the answers I am looking for.

“Bex.” My father walks in with a bowl of porridge for Chase’s breakfast.

“Jeffrey?” Chase’s puzzled expression makes me smile. My father was head of department at Eric’s lab for years, every board member knows him personally. “What are you doing here?”

“The right thing,” my dad answers, staring him straight in the eye.

“You’re with them?”

“I’m with my daughter,” he puts his arm around my shoulders and Chase’s eyebrows shoot so far into his hairline they almost disappear.

“Your daughter?”

I laugh at his astonished tone.

“Things are not what they seem, Chase. Hopefully, one day you’ll realise that for yourself.”

Chapter 15

“Keep him tied up,” I instruct Jethro when we get outside. “Put him in the trunk of the Jeep.”

We leave the Toledo camp mid-morning, the fifteen-hour journey ahead of us means we will only reach Dodge City after midnight, so we will stay on there for an extra day to recover before setting out for Durango. Reed insists on driving with me. To my intense embarrassment, everybody seems to know what’s going on, and nobody questions this change of travel arrangements. Reed drives and I sit beside him in the passenger seat, David and my father in the back. Veronica declines our offer to join our company, climbing into the back of the Jeep beside Jethro instead.

Tim is driving the Jeep, Gabe beside him, with Jethro and the two girls in the back. I am secretly relieved that Gabe and Tim are not travelling with us; their sombre mood makes me feel guilty about the loss of their friends. Relishing my newfound happiness with Reed, I selfishly do not want to deal with the dark, claustrophobic world that we are living in, just for a while. The drive is pleasant, my dad and David make small talk, and I simply rest my head against the window and gaze out at the Ohio landscape. I try to imagine what it must have been like before the war. The Rebeldom is just a faded, hollow reflection of what once was; the passage of time has left a desolate, lonely shell of what was once the most powerful nation in the world.

We pass a few of the Deranged during the gruelling journey. They simply gape at our passing cars; hollow-eyed and pitiful. A part of me is glad that I was born after the war, that I have no comparisons. How much harder it must be for those who knew what life was like before. My father, the VP, General Ross – they experienced the freedom and the democracy that existed before World War Three, before we destroyed ourselves. I had grown up within the NUSA boundaries, so my upbringing was far more comfortable than those who were abandoned in the wilderness, but I had been living in a gilded cage. The Rebeldom is a hard life, one I would not survive without these amazing people, my friends, my family, my Legion. They are the reason that I am so determined to bring about change. NUSA’s resources need to be shared. Lives need to be saved.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Reed interrupts my reflections and I clear my throat, turning slightly in my seat to face him.

“I can’t believe we did it, we destroyed the lab.”

“Did you ever have any doubt?”

“Only once,” I answer coyly, and then, at his questioning look, “when I thought I’d lost my greatest asset.”

“So that’s all I am to you, huh? A piece of meat; a number in your Legion.” I chuckle and David clears his throat loudly in the back.

“How much longer to Dodge?” he asks and my dad smiles at me as I turn to look at him.

“I don’t think David can take much more of your flirting, love,” he winks.

“A couple of hours,” Reed answers smoothly, ending our conversation but placing a hand on my leg. Trying to ignore the heat travelling up my thigh, I change the subject.

“I can’t wait to see Alex.”

“How is he?” My dad pounces on the topic.

“He’s fine, his healing has manifested,” I answer.

“So we were right.” His tone is thoughtful. “Any side effects?”

“None that we’re aware of.”

“Unbelievable – Alex is truly a product of the Power of Three.”

“Product?” Reed sounds angry and defensive, and I don’t know whether I am irritated at his accusatory tone towards my father or proud of his natural defensiveness towards my son.

“Not like that,” my dad doesn’t take offence. “It’s just that one has to wonder. Are we going to see a generation of Gifted children inheriting abilities from their parents; or is it just Alex, because of Rebecca’s unique genome.”

“Have any other Gifted soldiers had children?” Reed asks.

“A few, but their children are ordinary, showing no signs of any abilities.”

“So it’s just Rebecca; she’s the freak,” Reed says, making a sharp left turn. I slap his arm.

“She could well be,” my dad agrees, missing the sarcasm. “Bex is certainly one of a kind, as are you. You two certainly wouldn’t qualify as random selection.”

“Good to know,” Reed winks at me.

“I suppose only time will tell,” my father muses, and then he and David start up a conversation about the procedures and we lapse into a comfortable silence in the front, Reed’s warm hand still resting lightly on my thigh. I tilt my head, my temple against the glass window and I close my eyes. The sun is low on the horizon, dusk is settling, and the hazy light makes me sleepy. Knowing that my dad and Reed are both safe contents me, and I let myself sleep.

I wake just as we are pulling into the Dodge City camp. There are no stars out tonight, the sky is a solid black.

“Looks like rain tomorrow,” my dad says, as we all pile out of the cars.

“At least we won’t be travelling in it,” I mumble as I grab two empty fuel containers and head for the garage. We will spend two nights in Dodge and leave for Durango on Saturday morning. I can’t believe we have already been gone over a week. I experience a sudden pang of longing for Alex who will be sound asleep now. At least I will see him on Monday, at the latest.

It doesn’t take long to unpack and refuel the vehicles. As tired as we are, and as much as we would love to leave this for morning, it is never a good idea for the vehicles to be unprepared, not even for a few hours, in case of a sudden attack. We lock Chase in one of the windowless, interior rooms.

Everyone goes to their rooms and once we are alone Reed takes my hand.

“I’m not waiting another minute, Sexy Bex. We need to get to bed, right now.” His meaning is crystal clear and his plan doesn’t include sleeping.

“Aren’t you too tired?” He has been driving for fifteen hours straight, while I slept.

“Not even close,” he replies, in the husky, Southern drawl that I love. “I’ve been going out of my mind for the last few hours.”

“Maybe we should get our own car?” I raise my eyebrows playfully and he pulls me against him, growling in my ear.

“We’d never get anywhere. Now stop procrastinating; you are seriously testing my self-control. The only thing keeping you safe today was your father’s chaperonage.”

“What about David?”

“I don’t give a damn about David,” he growls, his arms tightening around me possessively. “He would have been out on his ass in a heartbeat.”

“Would have been a long walk.” I lower my head solemnly, hiding my smile.

“Shut up, Tiny,” he bends and hoists me over his shoulder and, ignoring my shriek of protest, he heads for my room.

We arrive at breakfast hand in hand the following morning and I cannot keep the smile off my face. Our happiness seems to be infectious, and even Gabe and Tim are smiling. The day stretches before us and for want of something else to do, and to keep Reed’s mind occupied, I suggest we go for a run.

“I can think of much more interesting ways to occupy our time today,” Reed grumbles and I laugh out loud as I tie the laces on my running shoes.

“In the middle of the day? You really are scandalous, Cowboy. What would everyone think?”

“I couldn’t care less,” he grins.

“How could I look my dad in the eye?” I question, and a frown crosses his features, too quickly for him to hide.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, let’s get going.”

“Oh no you don’t, spit it out!”

He stares at me for a long moment as though trying to decide on something.

“Let’s run,” he says, “we can talk along the way.”

“Okay, so what is it?” I ask five minutes later as we speed along the old highway.

“I don’t know, Tiny, it’s not something I can put my finger on . . .”

“But?” I can sense it coming.

“But something doesn’t seem right with your father’s story.”

“What?” I scowl at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m not saying anything,” he insists. “It’s just that their stories aren’t adding up and no one seems to be able to give us a definite answer. Let’s get into the trees now, these roads are murder on my knees.”

We veer left and off the road, and are soon running through the woods, leaves crunching underfoot. I steer us back to the subject.

“You’re talking about the guards? Why my dad and the VP didn’t have guards with them?”

“Well, yeah. And neither Jeffrey nor the General can give us a firm answer, admit it.”

“You heard my father,” I say, louder than I mean to. “It all happened so fast. They made a mistake. Someone made a mistake.” He doesn’t look convinced and I curse under my breath.

“You don’t believe that?”

“No, Tiny. I’m sorry, but I just don’t.”

I stop dead and a second later he turns and walks back to me. I put my hands on my hips and glare at him.

“What exactly are you implying, Reed?”

“I’m saying that I don’t know who to trust. Someone is lying, Rebecca. You don’t have to like it, hell, I don’t like it, but we can’t be blinded because it might involve Jeffrey.”

“You’re talking about my father!” I yell. “He’s my dad, Reed. He’s my family!”

“He’s my family too!” he shouts back, his temper flaring. “He saved my life, remember, I owe him everything. I don’t want to think like this, but I have to be objective. And so should you,” he reminds me. “Look, maybe it’s the General; in fact, it probably is the General, but I think we need to figure out exactly what happened. That’s all I’m saying.”

I hate it that he suspects my father could have anything to do with this, but he’s right. And I hate that he’s right. But something is going on and it’s my job to figure out what, to make sure it doesn’t happen again. If someone within the Legion is double-crossing us it could be disastrous for our people.

“It’s not my dad,” I state firmly, and although I can see he wants to, he doesn’t argue. Instead, his face softens and he moves closer to me, his hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

“Don’t fight with me, Rebecca,” he orders, and the low timbre of his voice makes my stomach disappear. He traces the contours of my face with his hands and runs his thumb along my lower lip. All thoughts of arguing fly out of my head and I close my eyes, my head filled with the sound of my own heartbeat.

“Why?” It is barely more than a whisper.

“Because,” he says, his breath on my face, and I open my eyes, willing him to say it.

“I love you,” he says simply, and I smile, reaching for him.

Reed chuckles as he pulls the dried leaves from my hair.

“It’s not funny,” I say. “Everyone will know exactly what we’ve been up to out here.”

“So? Let them know. At least we were considerate enough to keep it out of camp.”

“You really don’t care what other people think, do you?”

“Not even a little bit.”

We set off at a leisurely run, keeping pace with each other.

“So, when did you know?” I ask, glancing across at him. “That you loved me,” I clarify.

“How do you know that wasn’t just a line to get you naked in the woods?” he teases and I laugh.

“It’s just not something I would expect from you,” I say as we make our way back onto the tarred road.

“It’s not something I would expect from myself,” he admits, “but I think we both know that this,” he gestures at himself and then at me, “this is not ordinary. I didn’t ever think I would meet anyone like you.” My heart swells with pride, that I am the one who has tamed his wild heart.

“You know when we met, and you were with Eric?” he asks and I nod. “I wanted to kill him. Right from the start. Every time I saw him put a hand on you I wanted to rip his throat out, and the fact that I knew how much you detested him just made it that much worse.”

“I can’t believe you were watching me all that time and I never knew it. So, when did you realise?” I echo my earlier unanswered question.

“It doesn’t matter.” We slow to a walk as we approach the camp.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy. Tell me.”

“I really don’t think it’s important.”

“I want to know. What’s the big deal? Just tell me.”

“At the Unit Three camp, when your father summoned us,” he finally answers, and I understand too late why he didn’t want to talk about it. “The first time I saw you look at him,” he sounds apologetic, even though he doesn’t speak Aidan’s name.

I remember it clearly; it was the day that Aidan and I had reconnected. He was waiting at the camp when we arrived and he told me about Alex’s speed manifesting. I recall that Reed had been acting strangely that day. He was uncharacteristically quiet and he avoided Aidan and me as far as possible. “It was when I realised I could never have you.” Reed’s voice snaps me back to the present and he sounds so sad that I feel tears pricking at my eyes.

“Stop,” I say, grabbing his arm and turning him to face me. “You are the bravest, kindest man I know. You have nothing to feel bad about. This is not about Aidan. It’s about you and me. You are not my second choice, my consolation prize. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here right now.” I take both his hands in my own. “I love you, Reed. That’s not going to change.”

When we break apart, he drapes his arm over my shoulder and I put my own around his waist. Thankfully, back at camp, nobody suspects anything. They are far too concerned about Veronica and Jethro’s scandalous behaviour that they barely give us a second glance.

“They’ve been barricaded in Jethro’s room all morning,” Tim informs us.

“Jealous, Tim?” Reed jokes, and Tim grins.

“No, just hungry. They’ve been in there all day – Veronica never made us any lunch.”

We burst out laughing and Reed claps his hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Hang in there, buddy,” he sympathises, and at that moment Veronica and Jethro walk in through the door, from outside.

“Wha . . . Where . . .” Tim stutters, looking down the corridor to the closed door and then back at the two of them. Jethro’s arm is around Veronica’s waist and her cheeks are flushed from the fresh air.

“Where have you two been?” Tim whines, looking boot-faced.

“Out for a walk,” Jethro answers casually as Veronica moves to the table and gets out a loaf of pot-bread and some tinned beans.

“But, I thought . . .” Tim trails off and slumps down at the kitchen table.

“You thought what?” Jethro sits opposite him, watching Veronica fondly.

“He thought you two were getting hot and heavy down the hall,” Reed smirks, “as if anyone would do that in the middle of the day,” he adds, grinning wickedly at me.

“What?” Veronica squeaks, blushing crimson, and Jethro gives Tim a withering glare.

“You have a sick mind, Tim.”

“I’m hungry,” he groans and Veronica throws him a hunk of the bread.

“That’s all you deserve,” she teases.

Chapter 16

The rest of the day goes by in the same casual way, as we banter and laugh among ourselves. Tim relays the story when Morgan arrives and even she can’t keep a straight face. Gabe comes to sit beside me during dinner.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to Marcus. I was just lashing out.”

“Please don’t apologise,” I insist, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He was your best friend. I know what it’s like to lose someone that close to you. What happened to Marcus was a tragedy, and you were right, I made a bad judgement call. I was a fool to think we could spare Stefan’s life.”

“No, Rebecca, you weren’t. I don’t think anyone here relishes the murder of others, enemies or not. Except maybe Reed.” He smiles and glances over at him. “He’s a crazy bastard.” I smile too, and then he continues, “Your humanity is what makes you the right person to lead us, Rebecca. Never forget that.” I am momentarily taken aback by his honesty and touched by his words.

“Thank you,” is all I can think of to say.

It’s still dark when we prepare to leave for the Durango camp in Colorado. We are retracing our steps home and should be in town by noon and back in Vegas by nightfall, barring any unforeseen delays. Reed is uncharacteristically irritated as he loads our gear into the car.

“What’s your problem?” I ask.

“I’m tired,” he grumbles sulkily.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have kept us up so late last night.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it,” he quips, shutting the trunk and turning to face me. His features soften as he smiles down at me and I step into his arms.

“I sure did,” I drawl, in a fake Southern accent and he pulls me to him, chuckling into my hair.

“Terrible,” he mocks my feeble attempt, and then he slaps me on the backside.

“Let’s go home. There’s a little boy who has been waiting a long time to see his mama.”

I enter Chase’s room, leaving the door open behind me. He has been fed and let out four times today, each time with one of us accompanying him, to relieve himself and get some air. His mood has darkened drastically, and his suit is crumpled from having slept in it. I untie his arms and legs and he rubs at his wrists and ankles, where the rope has chafed his skin.

“You’re free to go,” I declare, stepping aside so that he can get to the door.

“I beg your pardon?” He looks puzzled yet hopeful.

“You’re free to go,” I repeat.

He takes a few quick strides towards the door and then he stops as a thought occurs to him.

“Where are we?” he asks dubiously.

“Kansas.”

“How do I get back?”

“Not my problem,” I shrug, “but we’re about 700 miles from the nearest boundary fence.”

“I need a car,” he says pompously.

“Sorry, no can do.”

“How on earth do you expect me to travel 700 miles on foot? With no navigation?”

“Like I said, not my problem.”

“This is ridiculous, Rebecca, I’ll die. You brought me out here, you’re responsible for my safety.”

“I can keep you safe,” I say, cheerfully, “but unfortunately that would require you to travel with us, because we’re leaving today.”

“Travel where?”

“Home,” I answer, vaguely.

“You can’t do this!” he yells, knowing he is backed into a corner. He tries one last time to coerce me. “Couldn’t you just drop me closer to the fences? Close enough that I could walk back?”

“I don’t think so,” I pretend to consider this. “But seeing as you’re so desperate to get back, you might want to think about what the guards at the fence do to anyone who approaches from the barren lands.”

“I’m not one of them, I’m a NUSA citizen.”

I can hear the uncertainty in his voice and I nod, answering his unspoken question. “Try telling them that, Chase.”

We leave the room and go outside. He eyes the ropes in my hands which I toss into the Jeep.

“I’m not going to restrain you,” I assure him. “There’s no need. You’re free to go whenever you like, but if you plan on surviving the Rebeldom, I suggest you stick around. This is your ride,” I add, indicating the Discovery. “You’re with me.” Looking morose, he climbs into the back seat between David and my father, and Reed grins at me from the driver’s seat.

The conversation during the journey soon turns to the Legion’s plans for the future, and what our next steps will be. I am determined, more than ever, to find Adam Vincent, and also to locate Quinn and the Vice-President. I cannot just abandon our people; happy as I am to have my father back, he is only one of our number who went unaccounted for after the final battle four months ago. If we are determined to go back to search, we will have to find another way into the States now that NUSA knows about the Ottawa River entry. David has a few ideas but nothing concrete, and he will start looking in earnest once we are back in Vegas. I am not concerned about discussing things in front of Chase; he will never make it back to the States on his own. He wouldn’t know the way and he wouldn’t be able to refuel, even if he did steal one of our vehicles. Our fuel stores are securely locked away and he doesn’t know the location of our refuelling camps. Stranded, he would probably starve to death. His fanatical fear of the Deranged will also keep him close to us.

I am relieved too that Reed and my father are getting along. The animosity that threatened to drive a wedge between them is gone, for the moment at least, and they chat amiably about Reed’s adoptive parents in Georgia, my dad’s cousins, Norman and Cathy.

“Be on the lookout for any Deranged,” I warn, as we emerge from the cars in Durango. With any luck the family I had seen here before would have left, or will at least remain hidden for the short stop we are making but I would rather we get out of their territory as soon as possible. Everyone piles out of the vehicles and heads into town, no doubt in search of bathrooms and to use the opportunity to stretch their legs. I notice that Chase stays close to David, who I think he feels is the most civilised of our group. I watch as Morgan walks off down the Main Street on her own, and I am about to ask Tim to accompany her, when Reed shakes his head.

“Leave her be,” he murmurs, following my gaze. I turn back to help him refuel, squinting against the sun shining in my eyes.

“So what happens when we get home?” Reed steps slightly to the left so that the sun is behind him and not in my face.

“With what?”

“With us,” he answers. “Are we going public?”

“Well, Tim knows, so I’d say we already have,” I grin. “That man is like the town crier.”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. What do we do about Alex, for example?”

“I think Alex will be fine as long as I’m fine. He adores you anyway, and he’ll sense something is up, even if we try to hide it.”

“He’s been through a lot, Tiny,” he sounds reproachful, and my eyes widen in surprise. Reed has always been fond of Alex, but I never suspected this almost paternal concern.

“He’ll be fine,” I say. “And thank you for caring so much.”

“He’s an easy child to . . .”

“Rebecca!” Reed’s sentence is left hanging as Morgan’s panic-stricken voice pierces the air. We whirl around to see her sprinting back up the Main Street, her eyes wide with fear.

“What the . . .” In a blur Reed is at her side, taking her by the elbow and pushing her behind him as he turns to face the man walking calmly up the street towards us. I hasten to his side, putting up my hand to shield my eyes from the harsh glare of the sun.

My first impression is that the man approaching us is tall and walks with purpose. He stands straight and proud, and he does not look left or right, maintaining eye contact. He seems to be looking straight at me, and I narrow my eyes, my curiosity getting the better of me. He seems unfazed by the party assembling to meet him, as the Legion members emerge from the town like shadows, and line up behind us.

“Get in the car,” I hear David whisper to Chase and he locks himself in the Jeep. Thankfully the keys are safely tucked away in Tim’s pocket.

When he is only about twelve feet away, the stranger comes to a halt, eyeing us with interest.

“Hello,” he breaks the silence, his voice low and unthreatening. This close up I notice that he is completely bald, even his face is devoid of hair, he has no eyebrows or eyelashes. His skin is incredibly brown, more than one would expect from simply being outdoors every day, and on his arms, between his wrists and elbows, red welts mark his skin.

When I look at his face, I find that I cannot tear my gaze away from his eyes. They are blue, but the pupils are not black, they are opaque, making his irises seem endless. My first instinct, on seeing the cataracts, is that he is blind, but the absence of a walking stick, and the way that he is smiling at my obvious scrutiny is testament to the fact that he can see. He runs his cloudy eyes over each of us in turn, but I notice his gaze keeps returning to me, a smile playing about his lips. He almost looks as though he knows me.

“May I ask what you are all doing here?” he asks politely.

“We might ask you the same question,” Reed counters, and the newcomer simply smiles pleasantly.

“I mean you no harm, sir, I assure you.”

Our group remains silent, not sure what to make of this stranger.

“What are you doing here?” Reed ignores his white flag.

“Staying alive.”

“Well, we’re just passing through, so why don’t you just let us be on our way.”

“I will not stop you.” He eyes me again thoughtfully and for some reason I feel uncomfortable.

“I’d like to see you try.” Reed’s voice is menacing but the stranger seems amused.

“I have no quarrel with you, friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Ah, but the enemy of my enemy is always my friend.”

“Enemy?” I interrupt. “Which enemy?”

“Corruption. Greed. Power,” he answers enigmatically.

“Who are you?” I interrupt, realisation dawning on me. The answer, when it comes, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“My name is Adam. Adam Vincent.”

Chapter 17

My face creases into a small smile and I relax slightly.

“I’ve been looking for you for some time, Mr Vincent.” I step towards him to introduce myself, but Reed and Jethro shadow my movements menacingly.

“Please,” Adam holds up a hand, “I do not want any of your people getting hurt.”

Reed’s laughter echoes down the street. “Oh, and who’s going to hurt us? You?”

“If I have to,” he sounds regretful.

“Yeah? You and what army?”

“Um, Reed,” I incline my head down the street as a horde of people emerge like rats from numerous buildings and alleyways. I have never seen such a motley crew; men, women and even children, all armed with makeshift weapons, knives, hammers, planks whittled into rudimentary spears, even a shovel. They are all human, but some have a wild look about them, almost Deranged in appearance.

“Back up,” I order and Jethro and the others retreat towards the vehicles. Reed stays exactly where he is, sizing up the competition. Adam holds up his arm, without looking back, and his followers stop in their tracks, awaiting further instructions. He gives me that same familiar, questioning look.

“May I have your name, Miss?” he asks.

“It’s Rebecca.” At this, he exhales deeply.

“Rebecca Dane.” He takes a step forward, closing the space between us and offering his hand. I force myself not to react to the name that I have come to despise, and I take his hand, shaking it firmly.

“It’s Davis, actually,” I correct and he nods in acknowledgement.

“I’m glad we’ve finally found you, Miss Davis. Please come this way, there is much we need to discuss.”

I start to follow him and then I hesitate. I do not know anything about Adam Vincent, and although my instinct is to trust him, I don’t want to walk blindly into a trap.

“Please,” he turns back, sensing my hesitation, “bring two of your men with you if it eases your mind.” Reed and Jethro fall into step behind me. Adam nods imperceptibly at the group gathered in the street and two men break away and come towards us. It seems Adam does not entirely trust us either.

As we walk down another street, a young man approaches us from Adam’s party. I look back and shake my head as David, Morgan and Tim step forward, and they stop their advance, looking apprehensive.

“Everything okay?” the youngster asks and I do a double take as I realise the voice is female. It is indeed a girl, about sixteen years old, but her head is completely shaved.

“Rebecca, this is Hope, my daughter,” Adam introduces us and I extend my hand. Her grip is firm and her eyes are hard and suspicious, but up close her face is incredibly beautiful. Her eyes are luminous blue in her face, and her cheeks are flushed with youth. She looks ridiculously out of place in this bleak, barren setting, and her bald head only serves to accentuate her striking beauty. I turn back to Adam, my confusion obvious.

“Not my biological daughter, of course,” Adam hastens to explain. “An unfortunate effect of my extended exposure to the fallout is that I cannot have children. I found Hope here,” he puts his arm around her shoulder fondly, “when she was only a year old. She was abandoned on a street in Denver.” Hope manages to smile up at him while at the same time scowling at us.

“Makes Morgan look like the town jester,” Reed whispers in my ear and I purse my lips to keep from laughing.

“You sound like you’ve been around,” Reed speaks up, addressing Adam as we make our way down the street.

“It’s part of the job,” he calls back to us. “We scour the barren lands searching for those in need of our help.”

“Find anything else interesting?”

“You couldn’t imagine,” he answers cryptically.

We come to a stop at the town hall and Adam gestures us ahead of him. Not knowing what to expect, we step into the vast room and my jaw practically hits the ground. There must be over two hundred people in here, mostly women and children. My eyes widen even further as I see the child I saw in the church on our way out, looking a lot cleaner, in a well-worn pair of boy’s shorts and an oversized orange T-shirt. Her hair is shorter, but much neater, and she is sitting between her parents, who are being cleaned up by a kind-faced woman.

“Where do you get your supplies?” I ask Adam, tearing my eyes away from the Deranged family.

“We hunt and gather for our food, and we have stock supplies which were smuggled out of the States. Unfortunately, as of four months ago, the supplies stopped because the security increased. We are no longer able to communicate with our sympathisers on the inside.” I am not imagining the knowing look that he gives me, and I wonder how much he knows about the final battle and whether he is aware that I am the reason for the increased security measures and his consequent hardships. “Our medical supplies, vanities, linen and clothing come from the wastelands,” he continues. “We travel extensively and we collect what we find.”

He falls silent as he leads us through the hall and into a large storeroom at the back.

“Stay with the others,” Adam instructs his daughter and she falls back as he closes the door behind him. We sit down at an old plastic table, Adam directly opposite me.

“This is Loader,” he indicates the heavy-set man on his left, “and this is Little Chef.” I raise my eyebrows in question at the man on his right and he grins. “We’ll get to that.”

“Reed and Jethro,” I incline my head at each of them in turn and Adam nods.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I glance again at his arms, the red scars clearly visible even in the dim room. “Beta burns,” he explains, uncannily able to sense what I am thinking.

“I’m sorry,” I apologise, flushing.

“No need to be. My scars are memories. They remind me of what I have been through, what I have survived.”

“How did you survive?” I can’t help but ask. This man should not be here, he should have died twenty-eight years ago in the Washington explosion.

“My father was not a stupid man,” Adam replies. “He knew the chances of making it out of DC were slim. When he realised that Air Force One might not make it out of the US before the bombs hit, he had his head of security get me off the plane. We made it underground just in time.”

“And your father?” Reed interrupts, referring to President Vincent.

“Unfortunately, he stayed aboard. He was never one to run from his responsibilities, and he had an obligation to try to get to safety, regardless of how slight the odds. I don’t think they ever expected the scale of the war and they certainly didn’t anticipate the consequences. Presumably America was supposed to fight back after the initial chaos, and he would have needed to make that call. As we now know, there was nothing left to fight back. America did not survive. The world did not survive. My father had to make a decision as the nation’s leader, not as a parent. Being the President is not always all it’s cracked up to be.”

He pauses, staring into space for a few moments. “Anyway, Jason got me underground and, as you can see, I survived. Unfortunately, we weren’t well prepared, our provisions were minimal, and we had to emerge much sooner than was safe. These,” he indicates the beta burns on his arms, “are a result of direct contact with fallout. Luckily, the beta particles were only weakly penetrating so I merely experienced surface burns. This,” he rubs his hand over his bald skull, “is permanent epilation, another effect of the exposure. I had hoped it was temporary, but I’ve got used to it.”

I listen in wonder, unable to conceive how he can speak so calmly about an event that changed his life so drastically. Even Reed is silent. Adam doesn’t seem to notice and continues in his calm way.

“The cataracts started a few years after the war, but they are by far the most debilitating injury I sustained. They impair my vision, particularly at night.”

“Can you see at all?” I ask, staring at his clouded eyes.

“Yes, Miss Davis, I can see well enough.” He takes no offence at the personal question. “But I can’t drive and my physical capabilities are limited – I can’t hunt, for example.”

“How come you’re not sick?” I ask.

“Cancer?” He shrugs. “It may come. It can take up to thirty years to develop but I feel fine. If that’s what is in store for me, then I guess I’ll deal with it when the time comes.” I sense that there is more to the story than he is letting on but I let it go, feeling I have pried enough.

“What happened to Jason?” I ask and his face falls.

“He was with me for ten years, but he was older, and his health failed. When the nausea and vomiting started, it wasn’t long.”

“Where did you find these two, and all the others out there?” I refer to the mob outside and his mood lightens considerably, his face creasing into a fond smile.

“Well, Loader here, I picked up in Tennessee, although it took some convincing to get him to join us. He’s a bit of a loner.” Adam slaps the large, serious-looking African-American on the back. “Little Chef,” he turns to the young, wiry, mousy-looking blond man on his right, who looks to be about thirty, “I found him ferreting around in a restaurant in Wichita. Turns out he can make a meal out of anything.”

“Little Chef.” I laugh.

“Most of our people were wanderers, scavengers, they had little or no human contact and lived in isolation. Many didn’t have names, so we gave them names that suited.”

“So,” I hesitate, not sure if the two men will take offence, “your people were Deranged?” Surprisingly, no one reacts to the term and I continue hastily, “You recruit them?”

“I help them,” he corrects. “Man was not created to be alone, Miss Davis. We are not meant to live in isolation, it strips away our humanity. I seek out the lost and I give them a home, a family.”

My respect for Adam Vincent is growing every minute.

“And your friends?” he asks politely.

“They’re members of my army,” I answer, “the Legion. And our goal is not quite as noble as yours, but it is necessary. We want to bring down NUSA. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I’m glad to see that the rumours about you are true, that you’re not just a pretty face.”

“You said you’ve been looking for me, too. Why?”

“Because you’re right. We need to bring down the so-called New United States, to share the wealth, the resources. This country could be united again; it could be restored to its original greatness, but to do that we need to overthrow the tyranny, give the power back to the people. We have the same aim, your Legion and my people, although we are not quite as remarkable, we are after all, only Ordinary.” He regards me contemplatively. “I assume that there are those among you who are Gifted.”

I am not surprised that he knows about the procedures but I am cautious in the way I answer, not wanting him to know the full extent of our abilities.

“Yes, a fair few,” I answer in a non-committal way.

“And I believe that you are quite exceptional yourself?” he probes and I feel Reed tense beside me. I press my leg against his under the table, urging him to keep calm.

“How would you know that?” I ask guardedly, deliberately avoiding the implied question.

“I knew your husband Eric.”

The silence that follows this statement is absolute, and I wage an inner battle in my head. At the mention of Eric’s name, my instinct is to react with hostility, but I force myself not to be impulsive. Taking a deep breath, I meet his gaze levelly.

“Eric Dane was the President of NUSA. If NUSA is your enemy, how would you know him?”

“I could ask the same thing of you,” he points out.

“I did what needed to be done,” I justify.

“As did your husband.” He places his hands on the table, fingers entwined, his expression sombre. “Eric was not perfect. He was a fanatic, a megalomaniac, power-hungry and prepared to do whatever he needed to keep control.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Even the darkest man can be made to see the light, Miss Davis.”

“Rebecca, please. And I seriously doubt that, as far as Eric was concerned.”

He picks up on the slight hesitation in my voice.

“I did not know your husband well, Rebecca. Certainly not as well as you did. But I saw the change in him when he realised that you were in danger. A man in his position wouldn’t risk everything to protect a woman he doesn’t care about.”

“I think you’d better tell us exactly what you know, Vincent,” Reed cuts across his rhetoric.

“Eric found me a few months ago. He had heard about the Ordinary and what we were doing and he needed my help. You may not believe this, but Eric had been backed into a corner by men even more powerful than he was.”

“He was President,” I spread my arms in disbelief. “How much more powerful can you be?”

“When Eric began to rise to power, when he created NUSA and sealed off the rest of the country, he believed that what he was doing was right, genuinely believed it. He felt it was the only way to protect the healthy and ensure mankind’s survival. He may have been delusional,” he adds quickly, as I open my mouth to argue, “I am certainly not saying that he was right, but he believed it. Unfortunately, in order to do what he believed was right, he made a deal with the devil, and you don’t just walk away from that.”

“Who? Who did he make a deal with?”

“Unfortunately that is something that I don’t know. I don’t think even Eric himself knew the true identity of the person he was dealing with. He contacted me when he was trying to get out of his oppressor’s clutches. What he did say, when he became desperate, was that I needed to protect you,” he inclines his head at me. “Those in power knew that you were in fact working against him, that you were trying to bring down NUSA. They ordered him to have you killed. It turns out that wasn’t something he was prepared to do.”

“He tried to kill me,” I point out. “His general, Nina, almost succeeded.”

“I believe the woman Nina started acting on her own, failing to obey instructions. I can assure you that whatever orders Eric gave her it was never his intention to kill you.”

“He distracted her,” I whisper, glancing at Reed. Did Eric really save my life? “Why didn’t he just tell me?” I raise my voice, addressing Adam.

“For your own safety, and for his own. Possibly he intended to when the time was right. Who knows? The point is that he did a lot of wrong, but he tried to make amends.”

“He had a lot to make amends for,” I spit out. “He murdered innocent people, people who tried to get to safety, who tried to get into the States.” I can still see in my mind the young girl who was brutally beaten to death by a Dane soldier years ago for approaching the fences in sheer desperation.

“Maybe he did, but to my knowledge Eric was unaware of the unnecessary slaughter of the lost. I have seen how the soldiers at the fences handle those seeking sanctuary, I have lost my own people that way, but I do not believe it was on your husband’s orders.”

“You’re trying to make him a martyr.” I can feel my temper flaring.

“No, I’m not. Do not misunderstand me, Eric Dane did terrible things. He was obsessed with power and the desire to control the country’s resources, and he caused an unbelievable amount of damage. I cannot say whether or not he was remorseful for what he had done, but he did try to warn us, and he did love you.”

“I killed him,” I intone, emotionlessly.

“I suspected as much. He sent me a message the day he died via an email to an inside contact. It was the last I heard from him.” He regards me thoughtfully. “Do you feel guilty?”

“Should I?”

“No.” The answer is not what I expect. “You had your reasons. Bringing down NUSA is our top priority. Far better people have lost their lives in this war. The only reason I am telling you any of this is because I think that Eric’s last-minute change of heart should not go without notice.”

“I disagree,” I fire back, and then, forcing myself to remain calm, “he took something . . . someone from me.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Someone very dear to me. If he had loved me he would never have done that. So you see, Mr Vincent, this whole exercise is pointless. You want me to believe Eric Dane loved me, but I will hate him until the day that I die.” I slump back in my chair, feeling exhausted, Adam Vincent’s extraordinary eyes have never left my face. “I’m sorry,” and it almost sounds like an apology, “but I just don’t believe you.”

“It’s really that hard to believe?” The sympathy in his voice strikes a chord, wounding my pride. I do not need his pity.

“You said it yourself, you didn’t know him.” I can feel my emotions starting to spin out of control, and I realise that my hands are trembling. Reed takes one look at my face and turns back to Adam.

“Let it go, Vincent,” he growls menacingly. “You’ve had your say, now leave it alone.” The last thing I need is for Reed to lose his temper.

“It’s okay,” I soothe, placing a hand on his arm and smiling up at him. “I’m okay, really.”

As I glance back at Adam, a strange look crosses his face. It is a mixture of realisation and understanding, and his eyes flicker between Reed and me. It’s as if he knows, and as I watch him he seems to come to a decision.

“You’re right,” he changes tack. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset or offended you, either of you,” he adds, including Reed, “it was never my intention. Perhaps I was mistaken. Let’s get you back to your vehicles, I’m sure you’re anxious to be on your way.”

“What?” I am struggling to make sense of the abrupt change in his demeanour. “But we need to work together, I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“I do, absolutely,” he smiles sincerely, “but I have something else I need to do, before I can help you.”

“What is it? What could be more important than defeating NUSA?” I challenge.

“Saving lives,” he says simply and he extends his arm towards the door. “We need to travel to California; there could be survivors there, people who need us. Your Legion was created and given the ability to fight; that is their purpose. I am happy to give whatever help I can when I return. I will come to meet you as soon as I’m done.”

“How long?”

“A month, maybe more.” He shrugs non-committally and then laughs at the look of horror on my face.

“Don’t be impulsive, Rebecca. NUSA will not be defeated so quickly, and plans take time to set in motion. We won’t miss much, I’m sure. Also, we are dangerously low on supplies, and we haven’t ever been to California. The coastline is full of harbours and ports and those ships are loaded with items that could be very valuable to us. You can direct us on our return, when we come to meet you.”

“But . . .”

“No buts, Rebecca,” he shakes his head. “This is what we do.”

Chapter 18

The scene outside has not changed; the members of the Legion and the Ordinary are still in their same positions, eyeing each other warily. I nod to the others, assuring them that everything is fine, and I give Adam the location of our headquarters. Despite everything, I am inclined to trust him, trust that he is who he says he is and that he genuinely wants to help. I can sense Reed’s hesitation beside me, but he does not say a word. This is my call.

After a final goodbye, I turn to leave, but a sudden commotion amongst Adam’s people grabs my attention. Someone shouts out and I see a man approaching through the crowd.

“No, get back to your post!” Adam shouts, displaying more emotion than I could have believed he was capable of, a mixture of panic and dread. My eyes search the crowd for the source of his dismay, my body on high alert for danger.

“It’s not going to work,” he murmurs, so softly that I have to strain to hear him.

I stand on my toes, intrigued, following the progress of the blond head making its way towards us. Then, in the instant that the crowd parts and I see him, my blood runs cold and I am rooted to the spot, physically unable to move. Aidan.

For a minute I cannot move, cannot speak, cannot even breathe and the blood rushes to my head making me feel faint. This isn’t possible. Aidan is dead; I watched him get shot, twice, in the chest. There is no way he could be walking towards me, his blond hair slightly shorter than the last time I saw him, his brown eyes as warm as I remember.

“You son of a bitch!” I roar and I leap on Adam and knock him to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” his voice sounds a million miles away and the heat of a rage unlike anything I have ever known fills my entire body. I land a ruthless blow to his face and raise my arm for another, but before I can bring my fist down, I am hoisted off him.

“Rebecca, calm down!” Reed restrains me and I go berserk, kicking back against him, twisting from side to side and screaming. I am yelling at him to put me down and calling Adam every filthy, revolting name I can think of. I watch in slow motion as he gets unsteadily to his feet, watch the stampede as the Ordinary charge towards us, murder in their eyes, kicking up a cloud of dust, and I see the Legion streaking down the street, ready to do battle.

“Enough!” Adam raises his hand and his people screech to a halt only a few feet from where we are standing. Reed is still holding me tightly, telling me to calm down, and when I turn my head to scream at him, I see the shock and fear reflected in his eyes. I have never seen Reed afraid. He is fearless, and the look on his face calms me down enough to stop struggling. I go limp in his arms, watching in horror as Aidan reaches us and turns immediately to Adam, checking to see if he is all right.

Finally, he rounds on me, his face filled with loathing and disdain, and his eyes sweep over me with no glimmer of recognition.

“What is wrong with you?” he barks in disgust, turning back to Adam, who is looking at me with such compassion that I have to turn away.

“He wants to see you. Alone.” Loader’s gravelly voice oozes disapproval and Reed nods, placing his hands on either side of my face forcing me to look at him.

“You don’t have to go in there.” He is almost pleading.

I drop my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.

“I do.” I screw up my face in an attempt not to cry and he closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

“Okay.” He releases me and steps back, dropping his arms limply to his sides. “Okay,” he repeats, the word sounding harsh and forced. I take a second to compose myself, wiping my face with my hands, and breathing slowly in and out.

“I need to know,” I say, stepping forward and standing beside Reed, but facing the opposite direction. He doesn’t say anything and I place my hand on his shoulder briefly before I walk purposefully back into the hall.

Adam is alone in the storeroom, which is remarkably brave considering how I’d attacked him only a few minutes earlier. I shut the door behind me and take my seat opposite him, just as before.

“You’d better have a good explanation for what just happened,” I say, noticing with a hint of satisfaction the large purple bruise on his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Sorry just isn’t going to cut it.”

“I had planned to tell you, please believe that was my intention. Right up until the moment I realised two things.”

“And which two things were those?”

“Firstly, that you are in love with the Southerner.” I don’t bother denying it.

“Secondly?”

“That you desperately need to hate your late husband.”

“You’re talking in riddles, Vincent,” I snap, and he sighs.

“Eric didn’t kill Aidan. Believing that he did was the one thing that allowed you to keep hating him, to keep the guilt at bay – you believed that he had murdered the man you loved. But he didn’t.”

“Just because he didn’t succeed, doesn’t change what he did,” I counter.

“You said you were looking for me. Where did you hear about me?” Adam’s change of subject is confusing.

“Eric,” I answer hesitantly. “Eric told me to find you.”

“And why do you think he told you to find me?” he asks.

“I have no idea.” And then it dawns on me as he answers his own question.

“Eric sent you to me for one reason only. So that you would find Aidan. Find the man that you loved.”

I process this for a moment, struggling to reconcile my hatred of Eric with this information.

“And yet you felt that you would hide him from me anyway?”

“Oh Rebecca,” he sounds harassed, “there is so much you don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me, then. Why didn’t you tell me Aidan was with you when I arrived? You obviously know who he is, what he means to me. So why hide him?”

“I had no intention of hiding him, quite the opposite in fact, although I knew it wouldn’t be easy for you. Aidan is not the same. There are things you need to accept. When I saw you with the Southerner, I realised that bringing Aidan to you might not be the best thing for you right now. You seem happy, and I do not want to bring you any unnecessary trouble or pain. I apologise if that was not my decision to make.”

“Damn right it wasn’t your decision to make. And my relationship with Reed has nothing to do with you,” I pause, as the implications of what he has just said dawn on me. “What do you mean, Aidan is not the same?”

“I mentioned before that Nina Lee began to go rogue. Her obsession with Eric, it seems, destabilised her.”

“So?” I ask, wondering how on earth this is relevant.

“Eric wanted you to believe that Aidan was dead, but he never intended for him to die. Unfortunately, Nina had her own agenda, and her jealousy and hatred for you resulted in her becoming unhinged. She disobeyed Eric and tried to end Aidan’s life for real, to destroy you.”

“How do you know this? What proof do you have?”

“Aidan survived,” he says simply and I frown in confusion.

“So, he survived. He’s stronger than I thought.” I push aside the waves of guilt that threaten to overwhelm me. I left Aidan for dead. He was still alive in that library and I abandoned him.

“No man could survive the gunshot wounds that Aidan sustained. No ordinary man.”

“Wait, are you saying . . .” I stop talking as I realise what this means.

“Eric gave Aidan the ability to heal,” he confirms. “There’s your proof. Eric did not kill the man you loved. He couldn’t bring himself to, although he despised him for being the object of your affection.”

I sit back, stunned. The reality of what this means is too much to process. Eric didn’t kill Aidan. And he set me on a course to find him. If that’s true, then how much else is true? If everything that Adam has told me is genuine, I murdered a man who was trying to save me. I cover my mouth with my hand, feeling the bile rise in my throat.

“I’m going to be sick,” I manage, and I grab the wastepaper basket under the table just in time.

Adam sits calmly in his seat, watching me closely as I throw up and throw up, guilt spreading through my chest and up my throat, leaving a rancid, acidic taste in my mouth.

“How did Aidan get here?” I croak, pitifully.

“Eric asked me to keep him safe. He almost didn’t make it; his wounds were extensive, and even with the healing ability, it took an entire team of Eric’s specialists to stabilise him. When he arrived here, he was weak and semi-conscious. It took weeks before he was well enough for us to realise what had happened.”

“Realise what had happened?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” he clenches his jaw, steeling himself. “When Aidan came around he had no recollection of what had happened to him. He cannot recall anything of his life prior to his waking up in our care.”

I narrow my eyes. “That’s ludicrous,” I say and then, seeing the look on his face, I start to panic.

“What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Rebecca, that Aidan has absolutely no memory. He doesn’t know who you are.”

It takes a minute or two for his words to sink in and when they do, I shake my head in denial.

“That’s impossible.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not, although whether it’s a result of his procedure, or an effect of his subsequent injuries, we are not certain.”

“Is it permanent?” I stifle a hysterical urge to laugh, although it is anything but funny.

“We have no idea,” he spreads his hands, palms up, on the table. I shut down, going silent. I need to be alone, but no sooner have I had this thought, than the door bursts open and Aidan enters, giving me only a cursory glance before addressing Adam.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I need to speak to you. There’s a reason I left my post before you called for me.”

“What is it, Aidan?” Adam asks politely, giving him his undivided attention. Aidan’s glance flickers over me as if he is reluctant to continue.

“You can speak freely in front of Rebecca,” Adam insists. Aidan’s next words are like a bucket of icy water being thrown over me.

“It seems they were followed, sir. A convoy of NUSA soldiers is heading this way.”

“Where are you going to go?” I yell over the roar of engines, running alongside Adam as he herds his people into a multitude of old trucks and cars. I am too distracted to appreciate just how many transport vehicles the Ordinary have.

“I’m sending most of them to safety, up into the mountains,” he lifts his head, indicating the crest just beyond the town. “Then I’m taking the exploration party to California, just as planned.”

“You can’t outrun them!” I exclaim.

“We can and we will. We’ve been doing this a long time, this isn’t the first time we’ve come across NUSA scouts and it certainly won’t be the last.”

“We can fight,” I point out and he shakes his head.

“Fight or flight, Rebecca, it’s human nature. Your instinct is to fight, but my people would rather flee. That way we live to fight another day.” Exasperated, I step aside as he bangs on the side of a mini-bus and it lurches away from the kerb, rolling down the Main Street towards the mountains. The NUSA soldiers are approaching from the east, but they are still behind the mountains, they will not see this hasty departure and Adam plans to lead them away.

“I would strongly suggest you don’t go home right now,” he yells, as one by one the assortment of vehicles rumbles past us down the street. “They may be able to track you.”

At my cry of frustration he adds, “You could always come with us.” He is only half-serious.

“Where is Aidan going?” I can’t help asking and he regards me curiously for a minute before answering.

“He’s coming with me, to California.”

I stare into his peculiar eyes, deliberating, and then I nod. “Then that’s where we’re going.”

“Okay, follow us,” he roars, grabbing the side-bar of a passing truck and leaping nimbly up to stand on the foot rail. I turn and start as I bump into Reed. His expression is pained and angry, and I grimace as I realise what he has just overheard.

“It’s not safe to go home,” I mumble feebly. He doesn’t say a word, but the hurt in his eyes cuts me to the core.

In a moment of clear-sightedness I surge after the truck, speeding alongside Adam, whose eyes are wide. This is probably the first time he has seen anyone with Gifts like mine.

“Can your people take three of mine? And the hostage?” I call, thinking of Veronica, Gabe, my father and Chase. The journey ahead is no place for them.

“Certainly.” He calls into the cab and Loader stops the truck.

Putting his hands to his mouth he lets out a loud, high-pitched whistle, and the last lorry about to depart for the mountains brakes to a halt.

“Dad!” I shout, racing back to the Jeep and yelling at Reed for the keys. “Change of plan. You take Gabe, Veronica and Chase, and follow them.” I point to the lorry waiting in the middle of the street. “As soon as we have led the NUSA soldiers away, take them home.”

“You might need the extra wheels,” Adam approaches us, as Reed hands my father the keys. “There’s plenty of space for you,” he adds to my father, pointing at the lorry. “My people will get them home,” he promises me. “As soon as the convoy has passed, they have instructions to get your people back home and wait there for me, if that’s all right with you?”

“Absolutely, we have plenty of room and fresh food and water.”

“Done. Now we really should get going.”

“Take them, Bex,” my dad presses the keys into my hand. “We’ll be fine. We’ll meet you in Vegas.”

“Okay,” I concede, “just look after yourself.”

“You too.”

He grabs a startled Chase by the shirt collar and drags him towards the waiting lorry, Chase’s eyes round with fright. Gabe and Veronica jump in behind them and the lorry roars up the street after the other vehicles.

“We’re following them?” Reed asks as Adam gets back into the waiting truck and I nod briskly, tossing his keys back to him. He turns on his heel and leaps into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, gunning the engine. Morgan and Tim hop in with him, and David and Jethro head for the Discovery, leaving the driver’s seat empty. I feel as though everything is spinning out of control, but there is no time to feel sorry for myself. I vault into the vacant seat, yank the steering wheel hard right and hit the gas, spinning for a second in the sand until the tyres find purchase and then we are careening after the truck, the Jeep right behind us.

Chapter 19

As we round a long curve in the road we can see around the line of mountains behind us and Jethro sticks his head out of the window to look back.

“Holy shit!” His outburst startles me and I swivel my head around to see the cause of his alarm. From this vantage point, we can see the pursuing convoy in the distance, and the sheer size of it makes my skin go cold.

“Morgan shouldn’t be here,” I curse, as we head west.

“She’s a member of the Legion, Rebecca, where else should she be?” David points out from the back seat, and I meet his eye in the rear-view mirror. There is no point in arguing; he’s right. I need to stop worrying about Morgan and give her more credit. She can handle herself better than a lot of the men in my army, if I am honest with myself. She takes her training very seriously and after seeing the sheer size of the force pursuing us, we will need all the help we can get.

Over an hour later we heave a sigh of relief as the NUSA convoy passes the entrance to Durango, choosing to follow us instead of searching the town. They have taken the bait. The sun is setting on the horizon, the fiery orange light shining on my face making it difficult to keep track of the truck. We should be able to outrun the soldiers easily enough, they are too far behind to follow us with line of sight, and the time they will spend tracking our direction will give us plenty of time to shake them off our tail. Even so, the thought of an army that size being in the Rebeldom makes me sick to my stomach. NUSA has always maintained its presence in the States, opting not to venture out into the barren lands, focusing rather on protecting its fortress. I’m not sure what has changed, but they are getting far too close to Nevada for my liking.

“I’m so sick of being in the car,” David grumbles, and I do not have the energy to disagree. It’s over 900 miles to California, a full day’s travel, but as tedious as the journey is, I am excited about the trip. I have never been to the West Coast, which was obliterated in the war when a large number of bombs landed in some of America’s most populated cities, Los Angeles and San Francisco among them.

We stop after nightfall in a small town near Flagstaff, Arizona. We have not made good time. Travelling through the mountains is slow going, but Adam seems happy with our progress, as he instructs his men and sets about preparing for our brief sojourn.

“We eat and sleep. Then we move on,” he explains.

“We may as well sleep in the car,” I say. Morgan, David and Tim get back into their seats, but Jethro gets out of the Discovery, his rucksack over his shoulder.

“I’ll find somewhere to rest, I’ll see you in the morning,” he announces, setting off into town in the darkness. It suddenly occurs to me that he didn’t even get to say goodbye to Veronica, and I can only hope that we will soon be home and reunited with the others.

I get back into the driver’s seat, inclining it as far back as possible. David is moving round on the back seat, trying to get comfortable. I am looking at the Jeep, parked only a short distance away. It is shrouded in darkness but I can see that the driver’s door is open; Reed must have gone for a walk. I have just closed my eyes when the rear door is yanked open so forcefully that the hinges creak ominously and the whole car rocks back and forth.

“Out!” Reed’s furious voice rings out in the night and before I can even guess what is going on, he grabs David by the collar of his shirt and pulls him out of the car, pushing him in the direction of the Jeep. Reed stalks after him, opening the rear door and speaking to its occupants. A moment later, the door behind me slams as Morgan gets into the Discovery, and I see David climbing into the Jeep, looking disgruntled but accepting. Reed stalks off into the night and I follow his progress as long as I can, until he disappears into the shadows.

“Good night, Morgan,” I murmur, and to my surprise she replies with a curt “Good night.”

I lie awake for a long time, painfully aware that Aidan is somewhere nearby, and that Reed is barely speaking to me. I know that he’s hurt and I do not blame him, but I don’t know what to say. And the fact that Aidan is alive . . . it is so surreal, so completely and utterly miraculous that I cannot begin to comprehend what it means. He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t remember, but he might, in time. And what if he does, my subconscious whispers. What if he does remember? What about Reed? He is brave and kind and I love him. He would die to protect me. I could no sooner hurt him than myself.

Around and around the thoughts swirl in my mind. So many questions, all without answers. And lingering on the fringe of my turmoil is the guilt. Guilt over Eric. What has come to light has completely changed the dynamics of what I did. Maybe, just maybe, Eric didn’t deserve to die. I can see why Adam hesitated, why he changed his mind and decided not to let me know about Aidan. He was trying to spare me the remorse that I am already beginning to feel. No! I want to scream, Eric may not have killed Aidan, but he kidnapped him and forced him to undergo a procedure that could have resulted in his death. He risked his life, of that there is no doubt, even if it was ultimately to protect him. And he still took him from me. Aidan has forgotten me, forgotten Alex and our life together. He is still gone, even though he is living and breathing. Trying desperately to hang on to the anger, to keep my hatred of Eric alive, I finally slip into a fitful sleep.

We gather for breakfast the following morning in a clearing in the nearby woods. Flagstaff is surrounded by different ecosystems, ranging from barren tundra to green alpine forest. Two of Adam’s men, Little Chef and Archer, provide our breakfast and as we gather around the fire on which the hares they have caught are roasting, I survey the motley group that we are travelling with. There are nine Ordinary travelling to California, including Loader and Little Chef, who we have already met. Aidan sits on Adam’s right and Hope sits on his left, keeping to herself. I am surprised that Adam allows her to accompany him on his missions, but I cannot question his motives. Adam Vincent has survived all these years in the wilderness and, against all odds, he is sitting here with us. He has been leading people a lot longer than I have, and he inspires an amazing loyalty in those he commands. The other four men, Archer, Diesel, Crackerjack and Big Boy, are wary, not making much conversation with us but chatting amiably among themselves. Archer is the group’s hunter. A skilled bowman, he finds most of the food that Little Chef prepares. Diesel is in charge of fuel, as his name suggests, and the irony of Big Boy’s name makes me smile as I regard the diminutive young man at the end of the row. He is smaller even than Little Chef, his frame is slim and small, almost girlish. I suspect that he has some radiation disease which has stunted his growth, but other than that he appears to be in good health.

Crackerjack intrigues me the most. He is younger than I am and seems more refined, more civilised, than his comrades. He is also the person, other than Adam, with whom Aidan makes the most conversation. Other than Crackerjack and Hope, all of Adam’s men appear to be in their thirties and forties, although I wonder if they just look older as a result of the strain of their way of life.

I turn back to the fire and I catch Aidan staring at me intently from the opposite side of the group. Flushing, I look away, my eyes automatically finding Reed, who has been watching.

“I know you,” Aidan announces suddenly.

“You do?” I cannot keep the delight out of my voice.

“Yeah,” he cocks his head to one side, and then he stands abruptly, looking confused and angry. “You were there,” he points at me, “you were there in the library when I was shot.” I close my eyes, my heart plummeting.

“Yes, I was,” I answer, “and so was Reed.” I gesture at him. “We tried to save you.” Aidan frowns, narrowing his eyes, trying to recall, and looking from me to Reed. Eventually, he sits down again.

“Yes, I remember, you jumped in front of the bullet,” he says to Reed and Reed nods, staring at the fire. “Thank you,” Aidan blurts out, and Reed shrugs.

“No problem.” He gets up and walks away and this time I follow him.

“Not now, Tiny,” he calls over his shoulder, as he walks towards an old children’s park.

“Yes, now,” I insist, running after him and pulling him around to face me. The hollow look on his face breaks my heart and I let him go and walk beside him, not wanting to see the pain that I am unwillingly inflicting. We reach the park and he sits down on one of the old tyre swings, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, his shoes scuffing the sand. The other swing has a broken chain, so I sit instead on the ground near his feet.

“I didn’t ever expect him to come back,” I begin.

“I know that,” he says, “of course I know that. But now that he has, what I really wanna know is where does that leave us?” The question is so sudden. I had thought we would take some time to get to this topic, that I would have more time to formulate an answer.

“I love you,” I answer honestly, tears pricking my eyelids. Reed remains silent, waiting. That is not an answer to his question and we both know it.

“I’m not saying that to let you down easy,” I smile, brushing at my cheeks. I get onto my knees and inch forward, until we are touching. Reed looks wary but he doesn’t move. “I love you,” I repeat, louder this time, and a ghost of a smile crosses his features, fuelling my courage. “Aidan coming back doesn’t change how I feel about you. Do you understand that?” He nods and I can’t help snapping at him, “Good.” I take his hands and gaze up into his hypnotic green eyes. “This isn’t going to be easy. You have to understand that. I loved Aidan my whole life, I will always love him. But I chose you. I don’t want this to end, but I can’t just switch it off. Stirring up these old feelings is playing havoc with my emotions; seeing him, it’s painful – there are so many memories.”

“And there’s Alex,” he points out and I echo his sentiment.

“Yes, there’s Alex.” I have not even considered what this means for my son. His father is alive and well, but he has no memory, he will not even know Alex, even though he was the one who raised him. Resolving to deal with that later, I come back to the topic at hand. “Please,” I beg, squeezing his hands, “please just bear with me. We can get through this together.”

He seems to consider my words for a moment and then he smiles, an infinitely sad expression on his rugged face.

“You know what scares me, Tiny?”

“Spiders?” I try to elicit a cheery response and fail dismally. He ignores my joke and carries on as if I haven’t even spoken.

“You say you’ve chosen me. But really, you have no choice. He doesn’t remember you,” he laughs harshly. “He doesn’t remember anything. But what if he had?” His voice turns caustic and I flinch. “What if when he saw you in town he had run straight for you, grabbed hold of you and never wanted to let you go?” There is a pause and then, “Where would we be then?”

I drop my eyes first, not because I do not want to answer him, but because I realise that anything I say from this point would be a lie. Because I don’t have the answer, I truly don’t know what would have happened. I love Reed, I don’t want to lose him, but I need to be fair. I need to find the answers all on my own.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper. “Please, don’t give up on us, on me. I need you.” He doesn’t answer and I get to my feet giving way to the tears that were threatening earlier. He won’t meet my eyes, staring instead at the dusty earth under his feet. As I turn to leave, he grabs my hand, holding me firmly.

“I don’t think I could let you go, even if I tried.” He stares up at me, his lips curling into a half-smile, the bags under his eyes testament to the fact that he got as little sleep last night as I did.

“But know this, Tiny. I hope that he doesn’t remember, I’m not gonna lie to you. And if he does, if it comes to it, I will fight to keep you. Even if I have to fight dirty.” I yank him to his feet, pulling him against me and stretching up to meet his mouth as it comes crashing down on mine.

Chapter 20

As we walk back into the clearing where the others are sitting, I force myself not to drop Reed’s hand. Aidan regards us, unconcerned, as we approach, but the rest of the group falls quiet.

“We should be on our way,” Adam breaks the silence and the Ordinary scatter, dousing the fire and packing up. The Legion remains seated, they do not take their orders from Vincent and I try to hide my smile.

“Be ready in thirty minutes,” I instruct, and they take their leave, Morgan more leisurely than the others.

“We kept you some food,” David hands me a small package wrapped in paper and I thank him.

“Rebecca, before we depart, I think we need to resolve some things,” Adam clears his throat and calls Aidan back to the smoking embers of the fire.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” Reed nods his approval and saunters off and I sit back down on the fallen log, steeling myself for whatever is coming. I cross my arms over my chest and wait. Once Aidan and Adam are seated, I do not delay the inevitable.

“There’s something you should know,” I announce. “Aidan lost his memory as a result of his procedure, not his subsequent injuries.”

“How can you be sure?” It’s Adam who asks.

“Because he remembers us, he remembers what happened in the library. Had his amnesia been a result of the wounds he sustained, he would have no recollection of anything prior to being shot.” I recall, all too clearly, Aidan’s face in that brief encounter. It has been burnt into my consciousness for months. He was badly beaten and tortured, and when we found him he was barely conscious, but when he saw us hope flared in his eyes, the possibility that he might be rescued. But other than that, now that I know what happened, there was nothing. No recognition, no emotion towards me other than relief and hope. Aidan didn’t know who I was in that room, I would bet my life on it. This had never occurred to me at the time, how could it have, but hindsight is a wonderful science. Only now can I see it for what it was.

Aidan opens his mouth to speak, but I am not finished and I cut across him. “There is something else you should know,” and this time I look directly at him, as painful as it is to do so. “My father is at the forefront of the Gifting procedures. He may be able to help you.”

“He could get my memories back?” Aidan looks more animated than I have seen him since his dramatic return to my life and I smile, glad that I am able to elicit this response from him.

“I can’t promise anything, but if anyone can, it would be my dad.”

He sits down on a log, enthusiasm radiating off him. Meeting my eyes, he seems to be mulling over something and then he leans forward towards me.

“Adam says that you and I know each other, that we have a history?” I ignore his dubious tone and I answer truthfully.

“Yes, we do.”

“So, how long have you known me?”

“Since the day I was born.” The answer is obviously not what he expected and he turns to Adam, a questioning look on his face.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Adam stands, brushing the dirt off his hands. “Everything you hear from Rebecca is the truth, Aidan. There is no need to doubt her.”

We watch in silence as he walks away and then it is just the two of us. I never thought I would see the day that I would feel uncomfortable with Aidan. He knows me more intimately than anyone else; he was my lover and my best friend. He was there for my own birth and the birth of our son, and every moment in between. I have never been shy or awkward around him, being with Aidan was as easy as breathing, until now. Now, he is looking at me as if I am a stranger, his warm brown eyes distant and suspicious.

“What would you like to know?” I ask politely, trying to adopt a casual attitude.

“Who are you?” I know he doesn’t mean my name.

“We grew up together in Ann Arbor, Michigan, within the boundaries of what is now the New United States of America. My mother and your father, Jonathan, raised us.”

“My mother?” he asks.

“She was murdered less than a year after the war in the chaos and the pillaging that followed. I’m sorry,” I say, feeling absurd. Aidan and I have discussed his mother a thousand times, he had never really known her and we were long past the point of pity.

“Where is my father now?” The question brings me up short. Jonathan had died while Aidan was being held captive by Eric. He had never learned of his father’s death. Telling him now, when he doesn’t even remember who he is, seems wrong. Jonathan died saving our son, he deserves to be properly mourned.

“He’s in the Rebeldom,” I lie smoothly, “although I am not entirely sure of his whereabouts at the moment.” He seems to accept this.

“So, your mother and my father, were they . . .” he looks at me awkwardly, and I smile, despite myself.

“No, they were only ever friends. Very good friends.”

“And you and me?” he asks, looking more uncomfortable than ever.

“We were best friends,” I begin, picking up a piece of bark and breaking it into tiny pieces. “In fact, you were my only friend.”

“Did we ever . . .” he lets the question hang, coughing slightly to mask his embarrassment. It is such an Aidan thing to do. I drop the piece of bark, tired now of the whole situation. Drawing in a deep breath, I sit up straighter, looking him right in the eyes.

“We have a son, Aidan. His name is Alex. He’s five years old. I was Gifted at twenty, and then we were together for two years. I left you when Alex was a year old.”

“Why?” he narrows his eyes.

“To marry Eric Dane. I made a sacrifice that I believed was worth while. When Eric discovered that I was working against him, I fled into the Rebeldom, joined forces with the Legion and plotted to bring down his rule. But things went wrong. He kidnapped you. Obviously he gave you the ability to heal, and then, when I came to rescue you, he killed you. In front of me.” I swallow back the lump that has formed in my throat and he looks slightly nauseous himself. “As it turns out,” I sigh, “you weren’t dead.” I stand suddenly, coming around the fire to kneel before him.

“Do you mind?” I ask, pointing at the hem of his T-shirt. Understanding dawns on his face and he blinks twice before answering.

“Um . . . no, sure. Go ahead.” I can feel his body stiffen as I slowly pull up his shirt. Not a scar marks the spot where Nina shot him. Two bullets hit Aidan in the chest, very close to the heart, but his bronze skin is smooth and flawless. Mindlessly, I lift my hand and rub it over the smooth skin, replaying that awful moment in my head. My hand rises and falls slightly in time with his breathing.

“You got this one falling off some old scaffolding near the Nichols Arboretum,” I murmur, running my fingers over a small, V-shaped scar on the right of his flat stomach, a few inches above his hipbone. “You were eight.” When I finally look up, he is regarding me seriously, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “I’m sorry,” I stammer, remembering myself and dropping his shirt back down. I return to my place across the fire, feeling embarrassed.

“So, was it worth it?” he asks eventually, but I do not comprehend the question.

“Was it worth it?” he repeats. “You said that leaving was a sacrifice that you thought was worth it. Was it?” His eyebrows are raised in genuine question and his voice sounds strained. Clenching my jaw in an agonising effort not to break down, I shake my head hurriedly.

“No,” I answer, my lips trembling with the effort of trying to keep my emotions in check. “It wasn’t. Not for one minute of one single day.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes and then he comes across to sit beside to me.

“Look,” he begins, his voice more gentle than before, “I’m sorry. It’s obvious that we have a history, I can see that you really care about me and I’m grateful. But I don’t know you. Adam and the Ordinary, they’re my family now, my priority. They saved my life. They save lives every day.”

“I’m glad that they were there for you.” I mean it.

“You and the Southerner,” he begins tentatively, not wanting to overstep his boundaries, “you seem happy?” He sounds relieved, as though he is being let off the hook.

“We are,” I smile, thinking of Reed.

“Well, maybe it all worked out for the best then. Maybe this happened for a reason. I want my memory back, more than anything, but I don’t think it’s going to change anything between us, either way. I don’t feel anything for you. Surely if we meant that much to each other, I would feel something?” I wince at his brutal honesty and he looks dismayed. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he stumbles over his words and then abruptly stops speaking. When he starts again, he sounds more confident, more sure of himself.

“Look, I’d really like for us to be friends. I have a lot to learn about my life, and you obviously played a very big role in my past. Can we be friends? I’m a pretty cool guy, once you get to know me.” He waggles his eyebrows encouragingly and I laugh out loud.

“Yeah, Aidan, sure. We can be friends. I’d like that.”

“Deal,” he extends his hand, a grin breaking across his handsome face.

“Deal,” I nod, taking his hand and shaking it.

“So, you guys are pretty impressive from what I hear,” Aidan jokes when we get back to town. Reed and I are finishing packing the Discovery. The truck is further down the street, pulled into a side alley, as Loader makes a few last minute checks and changes the oil. Reed looks like he has been slapped in the face, completely disarmed and not sure how to handle the situation. Aidan joking with us as a couple is surreal, but I nudge Reed and he plays along.

“How strong are you?” Aidan asks him.

“He’s pretty strong,” I answer for Reed. “He’s the strongest person on the planet.”

“Ah, so you admit it now,” Reed’s green eyes are sparkling.

“I guess so.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” he turns to Aidan, “but she’s definitely the fastest.”

“So when do we get to see you two in action?” Aidan is laughing when Adam runs up to us.

“It might be sooner than you think.” He is looking grave. “A small convoy broke away from the rest during the night, possibly the trackers. They’re only a few miles away and they’re in NUSA-issued Humvees. You guys might be okay, but there’s no way our truck can outrun them.”

Chapter 21

We streak through the trees, Adam’s binoculars hanging from my neck and banging against my breastbone. When we get to the point where we can just make out the convoy, I raise them to my eyes.

“How many vehicles?” Reed asks.

“Three Humvees.” I squint through the lenses trying to make out the occupants, but there is too much dust and the sunlight reflecting off the glass makes it impossible to see inside the vehicles.

“That truck must be a real heap of junk if it can’t outrun those,” he drawls. “They’re built for terrain, not speed.”

“Yeah, well the truck isn’t built for either,” I reply. “Did you not notice how long it took us to get here?”

“I had a lot on my mind,” he peers down at me and I quickly change the subject.

“What’s the passenger capacity of each of those?”

“Eight, but they didn’t get this far without provisions and fuel. That would take up a fair amount of space. I’m guessing four soldiers per car, five max.”

“Between twelve and fifteen then,” I peer one last time through the binoculars and then I hand them to him. He takes a brief look.

“They’re less than three miles off, we need to get ready.” Without any further discussion, we sprint back to the others.

“I don’t think they’re going to pose a problem,” I announce, missing Adam’s astonished look.

“We’re looking at anything up to fifteen,” I address only my Legion members, and Jethro, David, Tim and Morgan nod.

“But there are only six of you,” Adam points out, unnecessarily.

“Yes, we can count, thank you,” Reed replies rudely, rolling his eyes.

“How can you be so confident?” he presses, and I turn to face him.

“Because Adam, this is what we do.”

“Yeah, and because we have them,” Tim jests, jerking his head at Reed and me.

“Don’t be too cocksure there, big guy,” Reed cautions. “The last person that said that didn’t make it through the day.”

“I suggest you get your people to hide, out of harm’s way,” I tell Adam. “And hurry!” I add, as I hear the faint roar of the powerful engines in the distance. The Ordinary scatter, vanishing like shadows into the surrounding buildings.

“They are so freaky,” Tim quips, as we form a line in the middle of the street, right in the path of the three monstrous military vehicles approaching us.

The Humvees advance in single file and creak to a halt about 20 yards from where we are standing. There is an interminable silence and then suddenly all the exterior doors of all three Humvees open in unison, and the NUSA convoy disembarks and walks purposefully towards us.

I can hear Tim counting under his breath.

“Care to revise your previous estimation?” I whisper to Reed, who just shrugs his broad shoulders, unfazed by the twenty men standing before us.

They cross half the distance between us and the Humvees and then they stop, fanning out across the street. The man in the centre regards us warily before he calls out, his voice echoing down the deserted main road.

“We’re looking for Rebecca Dane.” His eyes do not leave my face and it’s perfectly clear that he knows exactly who I am. I was NUSA’s First Lady for three years, he would have to be a fool not to recognise me.

“Never heard of her,” Reed sounds indifferent, and I hear Tim’s chuckle further down the line.

“Mrs Dane,” the soldier drops his charade and addresses me directly, “you need to come with us.”

“Where are we going?” I ask politely.

“We’re taking you back to the New United States, ma’am.”

“And if I don’t want to go?” I taunt.

“We’re authorised to use whatever force is necessary.” He lets the threat hang in the air.

“Well, thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I have to respectfully decline.” I smile sweetly.

“Then I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.” He raises his hand and drops it towards us, the military signal for attack. The men charge at us and, as planned, we split up, heading in different directions and forcing them to break rank. Reed, Tim and Morgan go left and David, Jethro and I head right, a perfect balance of speed, strength and the Power of Three. I have to admire their precision as the NUSA soldiers split down the middle, ten men racing after each of our two groups.

As they reach us David grabs a soldier, and Jethro darts forward and pulls another from the group. With each of my team engaged in a one-on-one fight, I turn my attention to the remaining eight and step forward, my arms out to my sides, to prevent them from moving past me and ganging up on the others. Two men try to speed past me and I grab them both, flinging them back into their teammates. Surprisingly, David is already back at my side, a small cut on his forehead the only sign of his tussle.

“I’m impressed,” I comment drily.

I sprint forward, grabbing another soldier by his shirt and, turning on the spot, I throw him bodily at David. The seven remaining men seize their opportunity to grab me from behind, six of them restraining me. The last man comes round to face me and punches me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. His next punch is higher and hits my cheek, splitting my lower lip. As he changes his position to hit me with his other hand, I lift both of my legs and kick forward, my feet making contact with his chest. He soars backwards in the air and lands on the ground a few yards away. Jethro is immediately upon him.

The six men still restraining me hesitate, not wanting to lose their hold, but unable to inflict any damage. All their efforts are focused on immobilising me. Using this against them, I start to sway on the spot, pulling my arms from side to side, slowly at first, and then gradually gaining momentum. I hear their panicked voices behind me as they try to formulate a plan, but I focus all my energy on my core and the perpetual motion. I can feel their hands starting to slip and, as a group, their feet are sliding along the dusty gravel. It won’t be long before they lose their footing. I feel the sudden reduction in resistance as four of the men finally trip up, and I dart forward, dragging the remaining two with me. As I skid to a halt they shoot forward, tucking in their heads and rolling onto the soft grass just a short way from the kerb. I reach one before he has even come to a stop and grab him by the leg. I twirl on the spot, his body spinning through the air, and I let him go at exactly the right moment. He crashes into a birch tree, hitting it so hard that the tree snaps a third of the way down the trunk and starts to fall. I leap out of the way, but the soldier getting to his feet a few yards away is not so lucky. The massive birch lands directly on top of him, and I see his leg jerking underneath it.

I turn back to the street. The four men facing me include the leader who had addressed us in the street. His face is a mask of unadulterated fury.

“Still want to take me for that ride, Lieutenant?” I taunt, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. I can hear the sounds of the struggle further down the street and I risk a glance at my friends. Morgan is battling one of the soldiers, but she seems to be in control. Her moves are coordinated and calculated, and she is dodging the man’s blows easily. Reed is duelling three men and Tim is nowhere to be seen. In a moment of panic, I scan the surrounding area, but it is empty. Then a howl of frustration rends the air and out of nowhere Tim comes streaking up the street, laughing his handsome blond head off. Two NUSA soldiers come panting after him and I see the cause for their frustration. No sooner have they reached him than he streaks back in the opposite direction, a never-ending game of cat and mouse that they can never hope to win. Tim isn’t even getting his hands dirty.

In the brief moment that I am distracted, the four soldiers have moved closer, trying to surround me and come at me from all sides.

“Do you really want to do this?” I sigh, infuriating their leader even more.

“Whatever force is necessary,” he reiterates, through gritted teeth. “Take her, dead or alive.”

I stand perfectly still, breathing slowly, keeping myself calm and focused, just as Kwan taught me. I am aware of every move they make, their advance is infinitely slow, every step bringing them closer and closer. The sounds of the battle nearby have ceased, and there is absolute silence as I wait patiently, doing nothing, until they are only an arm’s length away.

Ready as I am ever going to be, I unleash my full force on the small group. I jump straight up into the air, my left leg coming straight up and connecting with the first soldier’s chin. In a split second, I jump again, sweeping my leg around and hearing the satisfied crunch as my boot makes contact with the second man’s cheek. As I land, I leap to the left and punch the third man in the stomach with my right hand, in the neck with my left and then in the face with my right, my arms pumping back and forth. They have not even landed one blow as I spin back to the right and, before he can even defend himself, I am behind the Lieutenant, my arm around his throat.

“Dead or alive?” I hiss in his ear.

“Go to hell,” he gasps with what little breath he has left and without another thought, I snap his neck, dropping his limp body to the ground.

There is a slow clapping from the right and I turn to see Reed and the others standing nearby, watching.

“Seriously?” I ask, looking at them. “You guys couldn’t help?”

“I told them you had this,” Reed explains, and the others smile, looking far less contrite than they should.

“How long were you guys just standing there, doing nothing?”

“Not that long,” Reed winks at the others, and then bending down so that only I can hear, “just long enough to see those legs of yours at work.”

“And you!” I bellow at Tim. “What the hell was that?”

“Just having a bit of fun,” he grins.

“Everyone okay?” I ask, knowing that they are all fine.

“Better than okay,” Tim is beaming. “Check out our new rides!” He scampers up the street towards the Humvees and David hastens after him.

“I’d better just check they don’t break anything,” Jethro’s excuse is feeble as he, too, belts up the road to inspect the NUSA vehicles.

“You did well out there,” I say to Morgan and she shrugs. “I’m sorry I haven’t had faith in you, Morgan. You’re a lot tougher than I’ve given you credit for.” She bites her lip, conflicting emotions on her young face. Then at Reed’s nod of encouragement, she forces the semblance of a smile.

“Thank you.” With that, she turns on her heel and follows the others.

“Progress,” I raise my brow and Reed laughs as he drops a kiss on my temple.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, Tiny.”

Chapter 22

“That was incredible!” Aidan’s is the first voice I hear, and we turn to see the Ordinary making their way towards us. They step over the bodies of the soldiers we have dispatched and crowd around us, all talking at once.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Adam is shaking his head in disbelief. “Twenty men,” he looks around, counting the bodies, as if he needs to double-check. “Twenty men, overcome in a matter of minutes.” They are all staring at us in awe. Never one to enjoy being the centre of attention, Reed points at the Humvees.

“You think those are being tracked?”

“Without a doubt.” It is Crackerjack who answers, and we all set off towards the three abandoned military vehicles.

“Pity,” Reed’s dejected tone makes me smile.

“You too?” I ask. “What is it with men and cars?”

“Come on, Tiny, don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to take a spin in one of those.”

“Oh, I think we can take more than just a spin,” Adam smiles.

“But, if they’re being tracked . . .” I say, not following.

“Crackerjack will take care of the trackers,” he answers enigmatically.

Curious, I follow Crackerjack into the first Humvee, watching as he opens the rear door and drops a heavy metal tool box on one of the seats. I stick my head inside the open door, checking out the interior. The two front seats of the vehicle are similar to an SUV, but in the back are six seats, three on each side, facing not the front, but each other. Even further back is a large open space obviously for storage. Crackerjack gets into the driver’s seat and I go around the other side and climb into the passenger seat. I watch as he sticks his head under the dash and pulls a smaller tool kit from his belt. The others are inspecting the remaining two cars, taking turns driving them up and down the deserted street.

“So, why do they call you Crackerjack?” I ask, making small talk.

“It means a person or thing that shows marked ability or intelligence,” he mumbles from below.

“So, because you’re smart?” I speculate as he emerges.

“That, and my name actually is Jack,” he adds, retrieving a small screwdriver and handing me the tool kit. “Hold that, will you.” He crouches under the dash once more and again I am struck by the difference between Crackerjack and the others. He is far better groomed and seems almost too educated for someone who has spent his life in the Rebeldom. He also has a name – a real name, unlike the others. Someone must have given it to him before he joined the Ordinary.

“How did you end up with Adam?” I ask.

“Same as the others, really. He found me in Arizona, offered me a place in his community. I gladly accepted. I had been on my own for almost a year; I was going crazy.”

“Who were you with, before?”

“Hand me the pliers, please,” he asks and I pass them down to him. He is silent for a moment and I think he has forgotten the question when he suddenly answers.

“I grew up with my dad. He was an academic; did his master’s in applied physics at Harvard. He had just landed some high-powered position with the government, but he and my mom decided to go and visit her parents in Arizona. They arrived a week before the bombs hit. I was born a few years later. My mother died when I was two. She couldn’t cope with it all; the way the world was. She became depressed, stopped fighting. She just didn’t have the will to carry on. You can put these back,” he adds, holding up the pliers. “She committed suicide,” he continues as I take them, and I blink in surprise. “There’s a tool box in the back, can you find me a small crowbar?”

“Sure.” I slip easily between the seats and into the back. Opening the tool box, I rummage around, extract the crowbar and make my way back to the front.

“Here,” I pass it down to him.

“Thanks.” He is quiet for a minute and I wonder if all this talk of his parents has upset him, when I hear him grunt with exertion.

“Dammit!” He pokes his head out from under the dash and eyes me thoughtfully.

“Could you do me a favour,” he asks.

“Sure.”

Crammed together under the dash, Jack points at a small black box with a blinking red light mounted under the steering column.

“You see it?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t get it off, not even with the crowbar. I’m not strong enough, it’s bolted pretty tight.”

“Give it to me.” He hands me the crowbar and I wedge the curved end behind the small rectangular unit. I give a quick tug and the black box drops into Jack’s outstretched hand.

“Nice one,” he grins and wriggles out of the confined space. He waits for me to emerge and then grabs his tool box.

“Could you help me with the other two?”

“Of course,” I smile.

“So, your mom committed suicide?” I prompt, while I wait for him to expose the tracking unit in the second Humvee.

“Yeah, but I don’t really remember her much. It was harder on my dad. He holed us up in a library in Glendale. It’s funny how in times of chaos and looting, nobody wants to steal books. Anyway, my dad was relentless, he taught me to read and write, and he made me study every day. I must have read every book in that library, although we avoided the fiction. My education was intense.”

“What happened to him?” I ask, as he sits up and indicates that it’s my turn. I slither down under the dash with the crowbar and a second later I hand the tracking unit up to him.

“Your dad,” I remind him.

“He died about three years ago. He stopped eating, and then came the vomiting and the diarrhoea. I think it was gastrointestinal, but obviously I can’t be sure. I nursed him as best I could, but he didn’t survive. I was twenty-one,” he adds.

“And that’s when you were on your own?”

“Yes. It was the longest year of my life. I tried to carry on with my lessons, to do what he would have wanted, but I started to get depressed. There were some days that I wouldn’t even get out of bed. They say depression can be hereditary. If Adam hadn’t found me I don’t know how much longer I could have gone on.” This further example of Adam’s benevolence only serves to fuel my growing respect for the Leader of the Ordinary.

“Only one more,” Crackerjack announces, opening the door and climbing out.

“Tim!” I flag him down, indicating that we need the third Humvee. He pulls up, pouting that his joyride has come to an end. It takes only another ten minutes and we have all three tracking devices.

“What should we do with them?” Adam asks, and I shrug.

“Leave them here, I guess.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Archer says, a smug expression on his face. Coming from him I take this to mean that some poor unsuspecting animal is going to lead the tailing convoy on a wild goose chase.

“Just be quick about it, we don’t have much time. They won’t be too far behind.”

As we pack up I notice the members of the Ordinary are stripping the NUSA soldiers down to their underwear.

“Waste not, want not,” Big Boy calls as he passes, a pair of combat boots in his hands.

We now have six vehicles between fifteen of us, meaning we can travel in small groups of two to three. Adam insists we keep the truck, much to Reed’s disgust, but his reasoning is sound. It will enable us to bring back more supplies, if we find any, and there will be more space available for any Deranged we may come across in California. Tim, much to his delight, gets one of the Humvees, with Morgan and David as passengers, David relishing the space to sleep on the way. Reed is driving the other Humvee, Jethro alongside him. He reluctantly relinquished the last military vehicle to Archer, who is transporting Little Chef and Big Boy.

Loader and Diesel take the truck, and Aidan and Crackerjack our Jeep. I am quite happy to keep the Discovery, the monstrous Humvees holding no appeal for me, and Adam offers to accompany me. Hope will not travel with anyone but her father, so the three of us climb into the Land Rover together.

“How come your people know how to drive?” I ask Adam as we pull out of Flagstaff, heading west towards Los Angeles, which seems as good a place as any to start. Prior to 2016, it was the busiest container port in the US.

“It’s one of the first things we teach them; it’s part of our rehabilitation programme,” he answers. Adam himself doesn’t drive – his poor vision means he is not safe behind the wheel.

“What else do you teach them?”

“The first step is to integrate them into our community, give them basic social skills and make them feel welcome. We feed them, clothe them, get them cleaned up. They learn how to hunt, how to prepare food and boil water. Personal hygiene is important, driving and simple medical care is mandatory. We also offer basic schooling, trying to focus on areas that they’re interested in, English, mathematics, history, that kind of thing. They are very much like children when they come to us, but most are eager to learn.”

“Most? So there are some who don’t?”

“There are those amongst the lost who can’t be saved; they are too savage and too far gone. They pose a danger to themselves and to us, and we have to let them be.” I assume he is talking about the Rados, but all this talk of the Deranged reminds me of something.

“There was a family sleeping in a church in Durango when we passed through a few days ago. Today I saw them again being cleaned up in the hall,” I say.

Adam nods. “Hope found the child alone in the street after your departure, and we located the parents shortly after that. They were fairly hostile in the beginning, but we often find this is the case where there is a child involved. Parents are highly protective, but once they realised we had food and water and were prepared to share it, they settled down quickly.” I barely hear the last part of his story, I am too focused on what he has just said.

“After our departure?” I repeat his words. “So you knew we were there?”

“We saw you from the mountains,” he explains, and I feel the gooseflesh rise on my arms.

“So it was Aidan,” I murmur, and he eyes me quizzically. “We saw you,” I clarify, “when we were leaving Durango. There were three of you standing on a ridge. I recognised Aidan, although at the time I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

“How are you coping with it all?” he asks kindly.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet.” I am trying to make light of the situation but he sees straight through my bravado.

“He could get his memory back at any time.”

“Or never at all,” I point out. “He seems happy, though.” I can’t seem to drop the subject, regardless of the personal pain it causes.

“He is by nature a positive person, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. He seems to genuinely believe in what we are doing and has made friends quickly.”

“He and Crackerjack seem close?” I ask, hating that I have to find out about Aidan’s life through this stranger who barely knows him. Adam knows more about Aidan now than I do, regardless of our history.

“They spend a lot of time together,” Adam confirms. “Jack is one of our more esteemed colleagues, so to speak. You know what they say, birds of a feather.”

“So, where are we heading?” I ask, changing the subject as we turn onto Route 66. The truck is leading the way.

“Kingman,” he answers smoothly. “We’re nearly there.” We have covered the 150 miles in three hours which, considering the limited speed of the truck, is quite an achievement. Kingman, Arizona is only about 85 miles south-east of Vegas, and I fight the urge to veer right and keep driving until I reach home. I miss Alex, and I’m desperate to know if the others have made it to safety.

“What’s in Kingman?” I ask, wondering why we aren’t driving straight through to Los Angeles.

“You’ll see.” Adam smiles and with that I have to be content.

“This is the farthest west we have ever travelled,” Adam remarks as we enter the city. “When we leave Kingman, it will be a new frontier for all of us.” We continue for a few miles and then he instructs me to overtake the others and pull ahead of the truck. My curiosity piqued, I do as he says. “Any minute now,” he murmurs, and I sense Hope sitting forward in her seat, scanning the road.

Then, without warning, a mob of angry people swarm into the street ahead of us, men and women, all armed with the same sort of primitive weaponry that the Ordinary carry.

“What the hell!” I kick the Discovery into reverse, but I have not even put my foot down on the gas pedal when Adam’s authoritative voice rings out.

“Rebecca, stop.”

I hesitate, but I have barely a moment to weigh up our options when Adam opens the passenger door and steps out onto the street, completely vulnerable.

“Dammit!” I put the gearshift in park and leap out of the car, leaving the engine running. My protective instinct will not let me abandon Adam. Reed and Jethro appear at my side, Tim only a moment later.

Adam steps out in full view of the crowd and, to my relief, they immediately lower their weapons, a collective smile of recognition passing over their faces.

“Right, so no need to panic then,” Tim saunters forward to stand beside Adam as an older man, who looks to be in his late fifties, strides forward, his arms extended in greeting.

Chapter 23

Adam makes a few introductions and we are led down the street to a small, modest house belonging to the older man who first greeted Adam. His name is Peter Presley and we soon learn that he is the unofficial ‘mayor’ of the town.

“Please,” he offers, “make yourselves at home.” He leaves us alone for a minute in the clean but ramshackle sitting room, and I turn to Adam.

“How many people live here?”

“About three hundred,” he answers, smiling at my surprised expression. Peter returns more quickly than expected and I do not have the opportunity to question Adam further.

“I’ve asked them to get you something to eat,” Peter says. “I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“Aren’t we always?” Adam laughs.

“You know you’re welcome to stay,” Peter jests, sounding as though they have had this discussion before.

“I know, and thank you, old friend, but, as you know, we have work to do. We’re just passing through,” he adds, “we’re heading for LA.”

“Breaking new ground, I see.”

“We’re foraging; we want to see if there’s anything salvageable in the harbours.”

“If you find anything, feel free to send some our way,” Peter winks.

“You know we will,” Adam replies earnestly.

Hope enters with a woman, who I assume must be Peter’s wife, each of them holding two trays brimming with food. My mouth waters when I see fresh fruit and vegetables and I smile in appreciation and tuck in. In a matter of minutes the trays are empty and the same woman retrieves them.

“I’ll bring some more,” she sounds slightly anxious and her husband glares at her.

“That won’t be necessary,” Adam insists and she looks relieved. “We’ve had more than enough.” Looking across at Tim’s crestfallen face, I give a tiny shake of my head, warning him to keep quiet. Obviously food is a scarce commodity, and I suspect that Adam does not want to take more than they can afford to give. “I will, however, be needing some of the fuel.” He looks across at Peter, who nods straight away.

“It’s your gas,” he points out, and then turning to the rest of us, he continues, “Adam leaves a few essentials with us for his return.” He turns back to Adam. “We don’t have any vehicles in running order, so you know we won’t be needing it. Although we have used a keg or two for cooking and a few of the generators.”

“You’re welcome to whatever you need,” Adam reassures him.

“So, you’re just stuck here?” I ask, instantly regretting it. I don’t want to be rude, but I cannot fathom how they get by without any cars.

“Stuck?” Peter laughs. “Where else would we go?”

I have no answer and I suppose he’s right. Their community is established and they obviously have the resources that they need to survive. Where else would they go?

“I suppose,” I answer eventually. “But what if you were attacked? By NUSA, or the Deranged?”

“NUSA won’t come out here, they couldn’t be bothered,” he answers, unconcerned. “And as for the Deranged, when they come looking we do what Adam would do; we help them. Where do you think most of our people come from? On the odd occasion that they can’t be helped, we simply send them packing.”

I fall silent, my eyes finding Adam. He has achieved so much and helped so many people. His kindness and compassion is humbling, and again I feel the instinctive urge to protect him.

“We should go,” Adam gets to his feet and the rest of us follow suit. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He shakes Peter’s hand and the two embrace briefly.

“Unbelievable,” Reed murmurs as we make our way back to the cars, which are being loaded with the additional fuel reserves.

“I know.” I never suspected there were other whole communities living in the Rebeldom – I thought ours was the last.

“I’ve missed you,” Reed changes the subject, speaking softly so that only I can hear him. I turn to face him, putting my arms around his waist and relax into his strong arms.

“You too,” I lean back and smile into his eyes, and he drops a kiss on my nose.

Suddenly I see Aidan standing a short distance away watching us, and I automatically step away from Reed, my face flushing. Reed frowns, glancing back over his shoulder for the cause of my sudden change in mood, and he stiffens when his eyes find Aidan.

“I’m sorry,” I grab his arm. “It’s nothing. It’s just weird, that’s all.”

“Sure it is,” he utters indifferently, and then he walks to the waiting Humvee without so much as saying goodbye.

My mood is considerably darker as we head towards Los Angeles, and Adam and Hope make conversation among themselves, sensing that I want to be left alone. We travel for almost four hours without incident, and then I start to notice a change in the landscape. Everything seems greyer, and there is very little vegetation. The dust here is thicker, and the buildings more dilapidated than I have seen anywhere else.

“We’re entering the dead zone,” Adam’s voice is low and depressed.

Fortunately darkness falls and the blanket of blindness that comes with it is a welcome reprieve. We decide to rest and continue at first light. Tired and despondent, I leave Adam and Hope in the Discovery and make my way to the Humvee that Reed has been driving. As I pass the Jeep, which I know Aidan is travelling in, I will myself not to look inside. When I reach the monstrous military vehicle, I yank open the rear door. Jethro is stretched out in the space between the rear seats. Seeing me, he quickly offers to trade places with Reed, who is lounging across the front seats. Without a word, I nestle myself beside Reed’s warm comforting body, my head on his chest. After only a moment, his arms come around me and I am asleep in a matter of minutes.

When I wake I feel much calmer. Reed always has that effect on me; he makes me feel safer and more secure, allowing me to focus. Los Angeles is depressing and dark. We have to abandon the cars as we cannot get through the streets. Entire buildings have been obliterated, and those that are still standing are certainly not structurally sound. At first I am hesitant to touch anything as we try to pick our way through the streets over mountains of rubble and rusted, overturned cars.

“The fallout effects are gone,” Adam says, watching me. “It can’t hurt you any more. Now it’s not the radiation that is of concern, but the contamination that may still affect the water and the soil.”

“And let’s not forget that any minute one of these buildings could collapse,” Tim adds, glancing warily around. Adam and Reed seem calmer than the rest of us, and it occurs to me that they are the only two among us who witnessed the bombs first hand. Reed was lucky enough to be with my father at a military base when it happened, and they were well prepared. They did not emerge from their fallout shelter for two years, and when they did most of the most dangerous, short-term effects of the fallout had already run their course. Adam, on the other hand, had to emerge long before it was safe and as a result his injuries are extensive.

There are skeletons and bones everywhere, many entirely covered in the grey dust, and I avert my eyes, not wanting to see such tangible proof of the massive loss of human life. The journey through the city is gruelling, and we have to stop and rest on more than one occasion so that the Ordinary can catch their breath. Still, I am pleasantly surprised by their level of stamina and determination, and we cover the 20 miles to the Port of Los Angeles by mid-afternoon.

The harbour is a mess; 42 miles of waterfront chaos. Ships have collided with each other and containers have been overturned, their contents strewn around the area.

“It’s probably better if we split into groups,” I advise, and Adam agrees. It will take us forever to search the wreckage if we stay together. We split into five groups of three, each group headed by a Legion soldier for protection. Big Boy saunters off with both David and Morgan at his disposal. Jethro leads Aidan and Crackerjack away and I feel some of the tension leave my body. Jethro is an outstanding soldier, he will protect them. Again, I am teamed with Adam and Hope, and we set off down the waterfront.

“How about this one?” Hope asks, gesturing at a cargo ship moored nearby that is thankfully still in an upright position.

“Looks as good a place as any to start,” I encourage, and we start climbing the stern ladder. Surprisingly, most of the container locks have been prised open, and many of the doors on the outer containers are ajar. The inner boxes, which are largely inaccessible, are intact. The first few outer boxes that we search are completely empty, but on our fifth attempt we are rewarded with a mountain of metal and wires. Adam seems far more excited than I am, as I regard the contents without enthusiasm.

“Automobile parts,” Adam explains. “Loader and Diesel will be delighted. The truck is in serious need of an engine overhaul.”

“Ah,” I answer, moving on to the next container. The rest are empty, save for some children’s toys in the dark, far corner of one of the boxes on the port side.

“We’ll take a few,” Adam remarks fondly. “Our children have very little in the way of playthings.” Thinking of Alex, I wholeheartedly agree, already picturing the excitement on his little face.

Deciding to try the bow area, we move along the side of the ship. The smokestack has completely collapsed and is lying across the starboard side of the enormous ship and hanging over the crushed side railing.

“Be careful,” I call to Hope, as we skirt a few containers that have toppled over onto their sides.

This side is much the same; there is very little to be found and I eye the inner layer of containers thoughtfully. “We need to get to those,” I muse out loud, and Adam nods.

“No doubt the survivors could not prise open the metal.” He smiles at me. “I am once again reminded how fortunate we are to have your league of extraordinary gentlemen at our disposal.”

We search the rest of the ship but find nothing interesting and so, making a note to return later with the others to try to get into the inner containers, we move on. We search for almost two hours, the highlight of our afternoon being the discovery of a container filled with women’s apparel.

“We’ll never make it back by nightfall,” Jethro points out as we reconvene where we started from. We have a lot of work ahead of us; there are still plenty of ships that we haven’t searched and of course we need to return to those we have earmarked.

“We should find somewhere to sleep,” I say, concerned for the Ordinary, who are wilting with exhaustion. “We can carry on looking tomorrow.”

A few nods of assent are all the response I get, and everyone bends to retrieve their rucksacks, looking around listlessly and awaiting further instructions. Everyone except Reed. He is standing stock still, his eyes searching the water out beyond the harbour.

“Reed?” He does not answer for a minute, his gaze fixed on something out there.

“That’s interesting, don’t you think?” He points towards the horizon, and I shield my eyes from the setting sun to look.

“The ship?” I ask, confused. Moored a short way out to sea and parallel to the shoreline is a massive white ship.

“Yeah, the ship. Loader, let me borrow those binos for a second,” he calls out to the beefy black man, and Loader hands them over.

“What is it?” I probe as he drops them to chest height, deep in thought.

“We need to get onto that ship,” he answers finally.

“Why?”

“I think there’s someone out there.”

“How can you possibly know that?” I turn and peer sceptically at the vessel. There is no way he could make out any inhabitants from here, not even with the binoculars.

“Look at the way it’s positioned. Every other ship out here has shifted; no straight lines, havoc on deck. That ship is perfectly positioned, parallel to the shore. It just doesn’t seem right, I think it was moored there after the bombs.” He pauses, smiling at my dubious expression. “Okay, how about we just call it a gut feeling? It can’t hurt to check it out.”

“That’s a cruise liner,” Adam adds, coming up behind us. “There may be bottled water on board.”

“Okay, so how do we get to it?”

“We need to find a working boat.” Reed walks back to the dock area, scouring the moorings.

“We’ll take that.” He points to a small lifeboat secured to the side of one of the larger ships.

“Most of my people can’t swim,” Adam says as Reed, Jethro, David and Tim get the lifeboat unfastened and into the water.

“Don’t worry, you stay here,” I reassure him. “I’ll leave Morgan and Jethro with you for protection, just in case.”

“If the Southerner’s right and there is someone on board, you might prefer to take them with you. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“Paddling into,” I correct, eyeing the small craft distastefully.

“You know, you could help,” I snap at Tim as we paddle out of the port and towards the cruise liner.

“There are only four paddles,” Tim points out happily, “and you’re both stronger than me.”

“Good to know that chivalry is not dead,” I mutter, throwing my weight forward and pulling back on the oars. The little boat cuts quickly through the water and in no time at all we are close enough to the liner to make out the deck, which appears empty. The superstructure is enormous, at least five storeys.

“It’s like a floating condominium,” Tim remarks. From where we are there is no way of knowing whether there is anyone on board and searching the monstrous vessel will take a long time.

“I think we should circle around and check the other side.”

Reed nods at my suggestion and we paddle around the bow. As we draw close to the port side, I lower my voice and turn back to get Reed’s attention. He follows my pointing finger, and even Tim sits up, looking more alert and less like he is on some carnival joyride. Tied to the port side of the ship, near the stern, is a small rubber dinghy moored right beside an ascension ladder.

“Definitely someone here,” Reed says softly and I nod as I gaze up at the sheer wall of steel beside me. From our low vantage point we cannot see anything else.

“We’d better get moving, we don’t have much daylight left.” I stand up, grab the ladder and start climbing. Reed and Tim secure the boat quickly and follow right behind me.

Chapter 24

We crouch low on the deck and skirt around the substructure until we find an open passageway leading inside. This close up the ship looks a lot less grand; the white paint has faded to a dull cream and is chipped and peeling.

“Let’s start at the top?” Reed suggests and I nod, checking that Tim has heard. We make our way to the top level and emerge onto a massive swimming pool area surrounded by bar counters and bolted-down sun loungers. The water in the various pools is dark and fetid, and there is no sign of life so we head down to the next level. We pass casinos and libraries, games rooms and movie theatres, all empty and lined with dust. Eventually, we enter the cabin area. The cruise liner is an entertainment passenger ship and the cabins are luxurious, or they would have been before the war. Now they are dusty and dilapidated. As we near the stern section, Reed holds up a hand, cautioning us, and runs a finger along the side rail of the carpeted passage. It’s clean. Not a speck of dust comes away on his finger. I immediately feel my body tense in anticipation. We proceed more slowly, our feet making no sound on the old carpets, as we pass cabin after open cabin, all of them empty.

Having searched top side, and found nothing, we venture down into the upper hull level. Passing through a massive kitchen, I am about to step into another corridor when Reed grabs my arm, bringing a finger to his lips and pointing at a door at the far end of the room. I assume it leads to the ship’s laundromat, judging by the faded, cracked sign on the door. Indicating that Tim should keep an eye out for anyone approaching from the two entry points, I tiptoe across the room with Reed, stopping just outside the door, my heart pounding. I turn the door handle and push, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked. From the inside. I meet Reed’s eye and he nods and stands aside as I raise my leg. With one swift kick, the wooden door crashes open, and we step hastily inside, quickly scouring the room. It appears to be empty. I glance back out of the room at Tim, quickly signalling that all is okay, when I notice a movement almost directly beside me. An elderly man armed with an enormous frying pan charges at me from the far end of the room, yelling in a very pronounced accent that I have never heard before.

“You get off our ship, you filthy thieving swines!” he roars, and I am too surprised even to throw up my arms to protect myself. Luckily, Reed grabs the man’s arm as the pan comes hurtling towards my head and pulls it swiftly from his grip. The old man does a double take when he finally gets a good view of us, and he stops immediately, looking from me to Reed, an astounded expression settling slowly on his pale, wrinkled face.

“You’re not one of them,” he announces suddenly, as though we are in the middle of a conversation. Still struggling to understand his accent, I cock my head to one side, “One of who?”

“Them,” he shudders, and I realise that he is talking about the casualties of the war – the Rados and the Deranged.

“No,” I reply, “we’re not them.” I pause, wondering how to continue, but before I can do anything, he steps forward, his hand extended.

“Please forgive me, miss,” he apologises politely. “How do you do? My name is Henry Etheridge.”

“Rebecca,” I answer, surprised by the firmness of his grip when I take his hand, “Rebecca Davis.” Henry smiles and then turns back to the row of driers behind which he was hiding. He leans down and speaks in muted tones, and then draws out by the hand a bedraggled, dark-haired, olive-skinned woman. She is about my age and does not look American. She is in a poor state, her eyes are sunken and hollow, and her ankles are covered in small red spots. There are also numerous bruises on her arms, and I immediately feel a burst of anger towards Henry.

“This is Sofia.” He supports her with his arm as he leads her forward, smiling encouragingly at her slow progress.

“Hello,” her voice is hoarse, and we greet her in reply. She does not make any further conversation, but eyes us warily.

“What happened to her?” I ask, hearing the accusation in my tone.

“She bruises easily,” he explains. “It’s a symptom of the scurvy.”

“Scurvy?” Reed narrows his eyes.

“We get it from time to time,” Henry answers. “It comes and goes, but we usually recover. Unfortunately it’s been a hard few months and our fresh vegetables have been scarcer than normal. The rash is another symptom.” He gestures at her feet.

“She looks like she’s in a lot of pain,” I smile reassuringly at the pitiful girl.

“It’s myalgia – severe muscle pain. She’s also very lethargic. I need to get her back to her room. You don’t happen to have any fresh food with you, do you?” he asks hopefully.

“Back on the docks we have a bit of dried fruit,” I offer.

“That would be wonderful. She needs the vitamin C.”

We follow him back out of the laundry and into the kitchen.

“Go back to the docks and fetch the others,” I instruct Tim. “We’ll sleep on board tonight.”

“I’m sorry, but it took a lot out of her, we didn’t have much notice of your arrival and we had to hide quickly.” Henry apologises as he leads Sofia up the stairs and into one of the cabins, settling her on the threadbare quilt. She closes her eyes almost immediately and he covers her with a well-worn blanket. Raising a finger to his lips, he shepherds us out of the room and we follow him down a passage that I know from our earlier search leads to a dining hall. We take a seat at one of the tables.

“Your accent,” I ask, “you’re not American?”

“British,” he answers proudly. “I was born and raised in London.” Not knowing what else to say, I remain silent. “I’ll go first, shall I?” he smiles, and I nod, desperate to hear their story.

Henry is sixty-one years old. He was a neurosurgeon at a renowned London hospital and he had travelled to America in 2016 to attend a conference in Los Angeles, at which he was the guest speaker. His wife had accompanied him. When the first bomb tore through New York City, they suspected the worst and got underground with as many supplies as possible.

“How did you know it would escalate?” I ask. “That the doomsday prediction would come true?”

“We didn’t, not really, but rather ‘safe than sorry’ my Helen said. It was inevitable, I suppose. I’m not surprised that we destroyed ourselves in the end. Technology had created a chasm where our hearts used to be, interpersonal relationships were reduced to random bits of code. People didn’t talk any more, communication was all electronic – emails, text messages. It was all too easy, nobody thought before they spoke, and there was no accountability. Relationships ended with the click of a button.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I digress.”

The Etheridges stayed underground for as long as they could, avoiding the initial fallout which is the most dangerous.

“Sofia’s mother tumbled into our hideout after about three weeks, exhausted, sick and heavily pregnant. We scrubbed her down and let her in. She was an illegal immigrant from Mexico. She had run away from home when she realised she was pregnant. Sofia’s father wanted nothing to do with the child. Her mother was only eighteen,” he explains sadly. “She died in childbirth. Even with my medical background, I couldn’t help her. But we managed to save the child.” He pauses for a while.

“It was Helen’s idea to get to the ships. She said that we would probably find supplies, and that we would be safer on board, away from the chaos. She said the water would protect us. It took us nearly a week to get from our underground hideout to the port, a week that will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

I can only imagine what they must have witnessed, travelling so shortly after the blast. The looting and barbarism is legendary, even today.

“We weren’t the only ones with the same idea,” he continues. “Most of the ships were occupied, or being fought over. We saw this cruise liner marooned a way out to sea and we used a dinghy to get to it. There were only a few people on board, most had departed for a day’s tour of the city, and those who had remained were too shocked to react to our sudden appearance. For a while, all went well. We secured a cabin for ourselves and the others didn’t bother us. There was a lot of food and water on board, enough for five thousand people and there were only a handful on board. Helen also set about planting, she had brought seeds and bagged potting soil with her, they were the first things she ran out and found after the New York explosion. She was a horticulturist,” he explains, seeing our confused faces. “Come, I’ll show you.”

He leads us back down the corridor and into an open, airy room that was probably once a passenger lounge. On a counter top is an assortment of pots, improvised from various plastic containers.

“Unbelievable,” I whisper, touching a red bell pepper.

“There are only a few edible plants that will grow indoors,” Henry speaks from behind me, “and Helen knew them all.” He smiles proudly.

“What happened to her?” I ask softly.

“She died.” He lifts his sleeve and scratches his arm, and I notice that he too has the red rash, and yellowing bruises mark his skin.

“Heart attack,” he replies. “Quick and painless, a few years ago. It would take more than a nuclear holocaust to bring my Helen down.”

“What happened to the other people on board?” Reed asks, and Henry looks pained.

“One by one they succumbed to illness. They wouldn’t listen to me. I told them that many of the exposed foodstuffs would be contaminated, the surface radiation for the first few months particularly is enormously hazardous, but they were desperate and hungry, and they didn’t believe me. We kept our seedlings well hidden. It pained us to see them suffer, but we couldn’t risk them using up what little we had. It would never have been enough, anyway.”

“And the child?” I ask, wondering how on earth they had fed the infant.

“We found a supply of tinned infant formula in a store in town before we left. It was sealed in boxes in a closed storeroom. Hardly ideal, but it’s not as though we had any other options. Sofia weaned very early, we started her on solid food after only three months.”

“So, you’ve been living on this ship for twenty-eight years?” Reed interrupts, a note of incredulity in his voice.

“Yes,” the older man answers. “About once a month we travel back to the city in search of supplies. It’s like a ghost town now, almost everyone is dead.”

“Not everyone,” I prompt, remembering his reaction when he first saw us. “You’ve come across the Deranged?”

“Regrettably, yes.” He looks nervously towards the door, as though checking that we are not being overheard. “A few times when we have ventured back to land, but we manage to steer clear of them for the most part. Then, about a year ago . . .” he trails off looking sick, and it dawns on me that the story is about to take a serious turn for the worse. “They must have been watching. They followed us from the port. About an hour after we got back to the ship three men attacked us. They stole what little food they could find, but they only really searched the kitchens, and that’s the last place we would keep our supplies. They . . .” he takes a deep breath, his intelligent face crumpling for a second before he continues, “they raped Sofia,” he suddenly blurts out and my stomach turns in horror. “They tied me up but I could hear her screams through the walls. When she finally went quiet I thought she was dead.” A tear rolls down his wizened cheek and he brushes it away angrily. “They left then, I assume they had got everything they came for and they left us for dead. Sofia managed to crawl to me much later and untie me. I nursed her back to health physically, but it was her mind they destroyed more than her body. She withdrew, stopped eating. I think she’s lost the will to survive. She hasn’t been the same since.”

“I’m sorry.” The words sound ridiculously inadequate, but I say them anyway. “We can help you,” I continue, squaring my shoulders. “We’re here looking for supplies and for people like you. We have an entire community in the desert. You’ll be safe there – both of you.”

He compresses his lips contemplatively and for a moment I think he might refuse. Then, without warning he breaks down, his face creasing into the saddest smile I have ever seen. He stumbles unsteadily to his feet, and he grabs at the front of my shirt, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Thank you,” he whispers over and over in my ear, and I realise the enormous burden he has carried for so many years. “Bless you, child, you have no idea how long I have been praying for this miracle.”

The arrival of the others, tangible proof of my words, is almost too much for the old man, and he dissolves in another flood of tears. Adam, the most experienced at dealing with these situations, takes him into one of the cabins to explain in more detail who we are and what is going on in the rest of the country. Henry takes everything in his stride, the only thing he questions is the “Gifted” among us, and he asks me for a demonstration.

“I’m sure you’ll get one soon enough,” I smile, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

“There’s plenty of bottled water on board,” Jethro reports, after searching the entire ship. “Long past its expiry date obviously, and it tastes a bit off, but it’s perfectly safe for human consumption. The cruise liners in the harbour would have been full of the stuff, they can hold up to five thousand passengers. The old man obviously scavenged it and stashed it away.”

“What else?” I ask.

“More medical supplies than you could imagine. Lots of clothing, blankets and linen, tinned food, even washing powder. Oh, and alcohol. A whole lot of it.”

“Well, it is a cruise ship, after all,” I smile at the obvious delight in his voice.

“I’ve never seen anyone so resourceful, surviving the way that they have in a direct blast area,” Reed remarks, changing the subject.

“They do have scurvy,” I point out, but he brushes my comment aside.

“That’s nothing, Rebecca. It’ll be gone in a month if treated with the correct diet. These people shouldn’t be alive.”

“But they are.” For the first time I feel what Adam Vincent must have felt on countless occasions. Without any combat we have just saved two lives, simply by finding them.

We settle into various cabins for the night. Henry cannot seem to do enough for us, as he changes linen and tries to make us as comfortable as possible. Adam gently assures him that we are fine and perfectly capable of seeing to ourselves, but he will not be deterred. Sofia does not emerge from her cabin, and I assume her lethargy keeps her in bed.

We are bunking two to a cabin and the others pair off easily, naturally assuming that Reed and I will be sharing. I feel almost awkward, and judging by Reed’s delaying tactics, he feels the same way. Eventually, we climb onto the comfortable old bed, each perching as close to the edge as possible, a great divide between us.

“This is ridiculous,” Reed eventually murmurs in the dark, and gratefully I roll onto my side to face him, my head resting on my arms.

“I don’t know why it’s so weird,” I whisper.

“Yes, you do,” he says, before looking back up at the ceiling. Determined to close some of the distance that is growing between us, I stretch over and take his hand in mine, encouraged when he doesn’t pull away. He turns to face me, squeezing my hands, and I smile at him, just able to make out his features now that my eyes have become accustomed to the dark. He watches me expectantly, and I realise that he is waiting for me to come to him, he will not let his guard down again. I inch forward, wriggling into his arms, and then I lift my head, my mouth finding his in the dark. The kiss is warm and intimate, and afterwards I snuggle against his chest, my fingertips trailing up the side of his body, from hip to shoulder. I fall asleep to the rhythm of his heart beating and his breath on my face, and I sleep soundly until morning.

Chapter 25

We spend almost a month in California searching through the wreckage for supplies. We manage to access many of the sealed containers and amass a multitude of useful items: clothing, tools, automobile parts and footwear among them. Henry is a hive of useful information, guiding us through the city and pointing out obstacles, showing far more energy than one would expect from a man of his age. Sofia is much the same as she was on day one, she rarely emerges from her cabin and in an effort not to frighten her, only Hope and I are allowed to visit her for the first few weeks. Her lacklustre eyes are still sunken in her cheeks, although her bruises are fading and the petechial rash on her ankles seems to be improving.

In the fourth week, Henry introduces her to Adam, and her reaction is not as severe as we expected. I persuade David to accompany me on my next visit; he has a kind and gentle disposition and is as good a test subject as any. Sofia seems unfazed by his appearance, trusting Henry and me implicitly, but she picks constantly at her blanket, a sign of nervousness.

“I don’t think she’s as far gone as you suspected,” I mention to Henry when we return from one of our visits.

“I agree; I expected a far more dramatic reaction to the men.”

“I think you need to stop molly-coddling her, Henry. She’s a fighter, she can handle it.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest you get her off her ass and make her join us for dinner. There’s no need to be ferrying food to her bedside, she can get around just fine on her own. If we expect less from her, then that’s what we’ll get,” I add, more gently. “Let’s see what she’s made of.”

That evening, I stop by Sofia’s room on my way to dinner.

“The food is ready,” I call from the doorway, and her eyes widen in surprise, confusion evident on her sallow face. “It’s in the dining hall,” I add, not waiting for an answer. I seat myself at a table with Reed and Jethro.

“You okay?” Reed asks, handing me a plate of food.

“Good, thanks. I’m waiting to see if she shows.”

“Ah, so tonight’s the big test?”

“Yes,” I reply and tuck into my food.

“Looks like she passed,” he murmurs a moment later and I look up to see Sofia standing uncertainly in the doorway. Henry rises from the next table and walks forward to greet her, a beam of delight splitting his face. He leads her to his table where Adam, Hope, Crackerjack and Aidan are sitting. I notice, with a stab of annoyance, that all three men rise to their feet when she arrives.

“Tim could learn a thing or two from that lot,” I grumble, stabbing a piece of potato with my fork. This is probably the last of the fresh vegetables we have brought with us, so we will need to be heading home soon.

“Would you prefer it if I stood up when you walked in?” Reed asks, only half-jokingly, and I burst out laughing at the look on his face.

“No way,” I grin, “you’re perfect just the way you are, Cowboy.” I nudge him with my shoulder and we fall silent as we finish our meal.

The following day we start ferrying our findings to the vehicles. I advise Adam that it will be quicker if he leaves it to the Legion, we will make better time. It will probably take us a couple of days to transfer our entire stockpile, making a few trips a day. Morgan and David, being strong and not fast, make fewer trips than Jethro, Tim, Reed and I, but they work consistently and do not tire easily. Morgan and Hope have been spending time together and I am glad. I worry about Morgan isolating herself, she needs a few friends and Hope is the perfect solution. Adam’s daughter is a strong and wilful young woman, and I admire her unfailing loyalty to her father’s cause. I have also noticed that she idolises Crackerjack, although he has no idea and treats her much like a kid sister. The next three days go by in a monotonous blur as we make our way back and forth between the port, where Adam’s men have gathered everything into one pick-up point and the cars, some 20 miles away. We do not actually load anything into the vehicles, as we are still not sure who will be travelling in which cars, so we make neat piles in a nearby warehouse. We will only do the final loading when we are all back and ready to depart.

At nightfall, we wilt at the supper tables, eating our way through our dwindling supplies. Sofia is more and more present, and slowly I can see a change in her. Her health is improving daily, and she is becoming more animated, making polite conversation with the others, although she tends to speak only when spoken to. She is still far too thin, but it is obvious that she is very pretty beneath the signs of her illness. She has a marked English accent, obviously inherited from her substitute British parents, and is well spoken. Henry has already informed us that they spent many hours in the ship’s library, trying to give her some semblance of an education. She seems to have attached herself to her original table-mates, Adam, Aidan and Crackerjack, and I am happy that she has made friends who she feels comfortable with.

Reed and I fall into bed each evening, too exhausted to do anything but hold on to each other and sleep.

“Not a moment too soon,” he drawls on the third day when we arrive back at the port. Our last load included quite a few cases of alcohol, for medicinal and sterilisation purposes, the personal belongings of everyone on board, to save us carrying these the next day, and the toys we had selected to take home for the Rebeldom children. I have earmarked a few action figures and some board games for Alex, my need for him growing by the day. Our initial journey of ten days has stretched to seven weeks already, and we still have a long way to go.

We sleep in the following morning, and then everyone gathers in the dining hall. I notice Aidan fetches Sofia’s plate and sits beside her, the two falling into easy conversation. Forcing myself to look away, I nod at Adam, who gets to his feet and addresses us.

“We need to get back to the cars,” he begins in his calm, confident way. “We’ll leave together, but it’s a long walk and we will obviously need to help our new friends.” He smiles at Henry and Sofia. “Rebecca will direct us,” he adds, sitting down and giving me the floor. I get to my feet and incline my head at my Legion soldiers, who all stand and make their way from the room. I am surprised that the others seem to be waiting for some sort of instructions.

“Let’s go,” I say, not sure what else they are waiting for. I allow Henry and Sofia a moment to bid farewell to their long-standing home, and then I descend the ladder after them, the seventeen of us squeezing into the two small waiting crafts.

We do not make it far into the city when the attack comes out of the blue. We are making steady progress, walking in single file down a back alley, when a particularly crazed Rado leaps out from behind an old dumpster, launches himself at Diesel and rips his throat with yellowed teeth. I am caught completely by surprise at such an aggressive attack, and I watch in horror as the crazed man steps back, blood pouring from his mouth.

Tim is the first to react and he rushes at the assailant. I yell a warning but it is too late. As Tim catapults himself forward, the creature swings his arm around in an arc, a glint of metal reflecting in the sunlight. For a moment I think that he has missed, but then his horrible eyes meet mine over Tim’s shoulder and a look of pure sadistic malice crosses his features. In the moment that Tim slumps against him, Reed and David appear on either side of the savage, and each grab an arm, pulling with all their strength. I avert my eyes, not wanting to witness the gory dismemberment and I leap forward, grabbing Tim’s shoulders and pulling him backwards. I am vaguely aware of Sofia’s ear-splitting screams and the Ordinary’s cries of dismay as they bend over Diesel’s inert body. Horrified, I lower Tim gently to the ground and I risk a glance at the big man. Blood is spurting from his neck. Henry rushes forward, plugging his finger into the severed carotid artery, trying to staunch the bleeding. Despite his efforts, the pool of blood on the ground beneath Diesel’s body is growing at an alarming rate.

Tim is conscious but in considerable pain. The metal is still impaled just below his rib cage. Hesitant to remove it, I cast around for someone who can help. Henry is far too preoccupied with Diesel’s mortal injury, and Jethro is watching me helplessly, fear etched on his sombre face.

“Jack!” I roar, as my eyes fall on the Ordinary member for whom I have the most respect, other than Adam. He sprints across to us, skidding in the dirt and coming to a stop right beside Tim.

“What do I do?” I ask, panic in my voice. I am momentarily distracted as Diesel’s legs start to twitch and I force myself to look away. There is nothing I can do for him. Tim is my primary concern. Jack nods his head, almost unconsciously, as he starts to reel off information.

“It’s on the upper left side. It’s pierced the abdominal cavity just below the ribcage.” He raises his eyes up and to the right, as though accessing information. “No major arteries, there would be more blood . . .” and then a look of horror crosses his face.

“What it is?” I realise I am shouting and I force myself to calm down, not wanting Tim to panic.

“It’s his spleen,” Jack looks so defeated, and the look that he gives Tim is akin to the way he would look at a funeral. “I think it’s punctured his spleen.”

“He’ll be fine,” I say, as though simply saying it will make it true. “He’ll be fine.” Reed crouches down beside me examining the rusted, vicious-looking weapon.

“It’s a broken piece of steel piping,” he whispers. He touches the exposed end, which is projecting at least three inches from Tim’s abdomen.

“Don’t take it out!” Jack yells, and we both jump back in surprise. “Henry,” he calls over his shoulder, “we need you over here!” The urgency in his voice is unmistakable, and Henry is there in an instant, bending over Tim’s body. I glance back and see that Diesel has gone still and everyone around him is just sitting there, doing nothing. I swallow back the sob forming in my chest. Diesel is gone. Henry cannot hide the look of hopelessness that crosses his face as he sits back on his haunches.

“You’re right, it’s his spleen,” he confirms.

“So what do we do?” I ask, when he offers no further information. He doesn’t answer, and Jack is silent beside him.

“What do we do?” I yell, refusing to acknowledge what they are trying to tell me.

“Nothing,” the croaky whisper comes from the ground and I look down to see Tim smiling painfully at me. “I think what they’re trying to tell you, is that you do nothing.”

“No,” I smile through my tears, lifting his head and cradling it on my lap. “Don’t you give up on me!”

“Not in my nature,” he jokes, putting on a brave face.

“There’s not much blood,” I address Henry directly. How can Tim be dying if there’s no blood?

“He’s bleeding internally,” he replies gently, and I shut my eyes, wishing that Tim had the ability to heal.

“What do I do?” I plead, hearing the frantic desperation in my voice.

“I’m so sorry, Rebecca, but there’s nothing we can do.”

The others move a respectful distance away, leaving us alone. Reed stays behind, kneeling on Tim’s other side, his mouth set in a tight, grim line. A few moments pass in silence and then Henry gets slowly to his feet and walks over to Sofia. Medically, there is nothing more that he can offer. I follow his progress, frozen in paralytic shock. He reaches the sobbing young girl, her face buried in Aidan’s chest, his arms around her protectively, his hand stroking her hair. Henry touches her shoulder and she turns, sees that it is him, and throws herself into his open arms. Jethro, his jaw set, trying to curb his emotions, has his arm around Morgan, who has gone deathly pale, unshed tears sparkling in her green eyes. David is standing slightly apart from them, his arms crossed over his chest, and the Ordinary are fanned out around them, their heads bowed, mourning their own loss and respecting Tim’s courageous act.

I turn back to Tim, who has gone frighteningly still in my arms, and I push everything else from my mind. It feels as though I am watching what is happening through a veil, as though I’m not really there.

“Hush,” I murmur, as he whimpers in pain and fear. I stroke his forehead, whispering soft words of comfort as he slowly slips away. I hold him until long after he is gone, rocking back and forth on my knees, humming softly under my breath. Reed leans forward, runs his hand down Tim’s face to close his eyes, and then he stands and goes to join the others, giving me all the time that I need.

Eventually I rise to my feet, bending and lifting the lifeless body over my shoulder.

“Bex?” Reed asks, stepping forward.

“We bury him,” I answer his question, walking past the others. We still have a long way to go to reach the cars, and the others fall into step behind me, silently.

“I can help,” Reed offers, a few miles later.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I decline, smiling sadly at him. I welcome the physical hardship. Carrying the heavy, precious burden is my penance for failing him. I am responsible for the Legion, for Tim, and I failed. I don’t blame myself. What happened was a tragedy, and deep down I know that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, but every step I take is like a tribute to the fearless, feckless soldier who gave his life trying to save others.

“We can do it here,” Reed murmurs a short while later.

“No,” I shake my head. “Not in this godforsaken, awful place.”

Chapter 26

We pass by one of the nuclear craters and I stop for a minute, staring down at the insignificant looking hollow, one of many that caused such massive loss of human life. What were we thinking? How did we let this happen? Feeling the tears falling freely, I continue on, the others keeping their distance, allowing me my time to grieve. When we reach the place where the cars are parked, I leave the Ordinary to deal with their own loss, and I set off with my Legion soldiers to bury our fallen hero. It is no remarkable site that we choose as his final resting place, just a simple, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, but at least it is far enough out of the city that a few green shoots have made their way through the dry cracked earth. I sink to my knees by the mound of sand that marks his grave, placing a hand on the warm soil. There are no words to encompass what I want to say, so I settle for a simple “thank you”. One by one, the others drop to their knees and do the same, and then it is over. We stand and walk away, without looking back.

I notice immediately that something is up when we return to the group. No one will meet my eye except Adam, who looks like he has something on his mind. Studiously avoiding the small mound of fresh earth that marks Diesel’s grave, I walk straight up to him, expectantly.

“Rebecca,” he begins hesitantly, “this may not be the best time, but I think we should continue our search of the West Coast.” I am stunned into silence and he continues more confidently. “I’d like to travel north, as far as San Francisco. We can search the smaller towns in between, on the way.”

“Are you insane?” I round on him angrily. “What’s the point? In case you haven’t noticed we lost two people back there.” Reed appears at my side, sensing my distress.

“And we saved two,” Adam answers calmly.

“Okay, I know my maths isn’t the best, but I’d say that’s a pretty big waste of time. No offence,” I add, glancing at Henry and Sofia, who are resting nearby. The entire group has gone deathly quiet, eavesdropping on our conversation.

“Rebecca,” Adam continues placatingly, “this is all new to you, and the Los Angeles trip was a tragic start. But it’s not always like that. We save a lot more lives than we lose; our entire community is made up of rescued souls.” I clench my jaw angrily to keep from biting out a scathing retort.

“I’d like to come along,” Henry pipes up, and Adam swivels around to face him. “I’m a doctor, after all. I think I could be of some use.” Everyone’s a hero, I think irritably.

“Sofia is weak,” I point out and Henry looks torn. I know he will not leave the young woman.

“I will be fine!” The answer is the last thing I expect, and I turn to see Sofia glaring at me, her jaw set stubbornly. She is certainly looking a lot better than when we first found her, and I see a glimpse of a rare, wild Hispanic beauty beneath her frail exterior.

“I’m going to send a few of my men back to rendezvous with the others. Big Boy, Little Chef, Aidan and Crackerjack. We don’t need them here and . . .”

“Aidan is not going anywhere without me,” I interrupt Adam sharply and I sense Reed stiffen beside me. “It’s not that,” I hasten to add, trying not to look at Aidan to see his reaction to my words. “It’s not that,” I repeat, shaking my head at Reed. Turning back to Adam I try to explain. “Alex is back there. My son. He thinks his father is dead, there is no way Aidan is waltzing back into his life without me being there to explain. Aidan has no memory, do you have any idea what that is going to do to Alex? He’s only five years old.” I can’t resist any longer and I glance quickly at Aidan. I am satisfied to see that he is looking suitably concerned. Reed’s face is devoid of any emotion and, as usual, Adam looks pensive. Everyone else is intentionally looking anywhere but at me.

“You’re right,” Adam concedes, eventually. “I’m sorry Rebecca, I hadn’t thought of Alex. Aidan will accompany us. If you don’t mind, the others can take the Jeep back to your base in Vegas.”

“We’re out of supplies,” I point out.

“Loader and Archer will return to Kingman, Peter will give them the food supplies we need.”

“I thought we weren’t taking more from Peter than necessary,” I say scathingly, guilt fuelling my sarcasm but, typically, Adam doesn’t react.

“Peter knows I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. He’ll provide.”

I consider this for a moment.

“Okay, fine, Loader and Archer will fetch the supplies from Kingman. Morgan and David will take the Humvee and accompany Crackerjack, Big Boy and Little Chef home. The rest of us better get packed, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.

“Rebecca, I think we should stay,” David urges when he hears that I am sending him and Morgan back.

“No.” I smile at him fondly. “You need to protect them and direct them to headquarters. It’s been too long since we left home, they’re going to be worried.” It has been more than seven weeks since we left and although children have little concept of time, and I had not specifically told Alex how long I would be gone, I need him to know that I am safe and will be home soon. I am also desperate to know that everything is okay back at base. I have not forgotten the convoy of NUSA soldiers on the loose in the Rebeldom, and I would prefer to have feedback.

“Take the Humvee,” I tell David, “and as many supplies as you can, we won’t be needing it, and we’re dangerously low on fuel anyway. Morgan can travel with them in the Jeep. Stay close to them. If anything happens or if you sense any trouble you get word to me.” He nods briskly. I reach into the Discovery and pull out two of the action figures I had reserved. “Give these to Alex, okay?” I press them into David’s warm hands and I feel a lump forming in my throat. “Tell him I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll tell him,” David assures me, squeezing my hand. “We’ll see you soon.” He walks away.

Morgan puts up no argument to stay and I am hardly surprised. I know that she is desperate to see her brother again.

“Tell Michael we say ‘hi’.” I smile at her but, typically, her answering smile does not reach her eyes.

“Good luck,” she says as she climbs into the back of the Jeep. A part of me is relieved to see Morgan go. Her animosity and angry disposition are exhausting. Even so, I watch David get into Tim’s beloved Humvee with a heavy heart. A moment later he is off, heading west, and I find myself wishing that I was going with him. The Jeep follows a moment later, the three Ordinary waving as they speed off.

I turn back to Reed as the others suddenly busy themselves with unnecessary activities, trying to smooth over the awkward situation. I look at his face, his lips set in a grim line, and I sigh.

“It’s not what you think,” I reiterate. “It’s Alex, I’m only concerned about Alex.”

This is the truth. Alex is only a little boy who has lost so much. My leadership of the Legion already takes so much from him; my time, my focus. It’s the price I pay for the position that I’m in. My son may well grow up without a mother; I risk my life constantly, but if I can protect him, I will, and he idolised his father. It is not going to be easy for Alex to accept this stranger who doesn’t know us. I need to be there, to comfort him and ease his pain. Reed regards me steadily for a long moment and then he drops his eyes.

“I wish I could believe that’s all there is to it, Tiny,” he begins. “I want to believe it. But I just can’t.”

Archer and Loader set off for Kingman in one of the Humvees to replenish our food supplies. They will drive right through and meet up with us as soon as they can. Loath to witness the budding relationship between Aidan and Sofia, I indicate that Adam and Hope should ride with me in the Discovery. To my intense relief, Adam instructs Sofia and Henry to ride in Jethro’s Humvee and signals that Aidan should follow in the truck. Reed stands alone, considering the three vehicles. Eventually, avoiding my questioning look, he turns and saunters towards the truck, pulling himself up into the passenger side and slamming the door behind him.

It is only 382 miles to San Francisco, a journey we could make in less than a day, but the route that Adam has selected will take us through many smaller towns on the way, including Bakersfield and Fresno. We are meeting Archer and Loader in Bakersfield, their short detour will not take much time, and they should catch us up shortly. Bakersfield is far enough from LA that it did not suffer any direct hits in the war, and the familiar barren landscape is a welcoming sight after the horror of Los Angeles.

“How long do you think we’ll be gone?” I ask Adam. Hope is sleeping, sprawled across the back seat. I am trying desperately not to think what Aidan and Reed could possibly be talking about in the truck behind us.

“A month, maybe more,” Adam echoes the same answer he gave me when we departed for California.

Astonishingly, Bakersfield shows signs of life immediately. We pass washing flapping on a line and in the muted light as dusk falls I see the flickering of candlelight in more than one window.

“What do we do?” I murmur, keeping a keen eye out for trouble.

“We introduce ourselves,” Adam replies, signalling that I should pull over onto the shoulder of the road and switch off the engine. The others pull up behind us. We get out of the cars and climb the porch steps of an old tumbledown house. Adam knocks three times, the sound echoing down the deserted street. I glance over my shoulder at the others, giving Reed the ghost of a smile, when the door is suddenly swung wide from the inside, and the long, metal barrel of an old shotgun is rammed between Adam’s cloudy eyes.

“Hey!” I am about to intervene and snatch the gun away from its wielder, but Adam holds up his hand to stop me.

“We mean you no harm, sir,” he states calmly, and I hear Reed chuckle behind me.

“You seriously need to get some new material, Vincent,” he drawls.

“We’ve got nothing for you here!” the gun-wielding man roars, and as I peer around the screen I see that he is about fifty years old, grey-haired but strong as an ox, if the size of his biceps is anything to go by. His face is tanned and leathery, and his strong build is testimony to a life of manual labour. His hands are huge, but they are covered in cuts and grazes, and two blackened fingernails are further proof of his hardship.

“We are not here in search of supplies,” Adam assures him calmly. As it did with us, Adam’s hypnotic, tranquil voice relaxes the older man. He lowers the gun slightly. I am hardly surprised; Adam’s gift is God-given, he was born with the most intense charisma I have ever seen in anyone. He inspires others to listen and evokes an almost reverent loyalty from those who follow him.

The stranger casts his gaze over each of us in turn. He narrows his eyes at me, and even more so at Reed, who is regarding him insolently.

“What do you want?” he barks at Adam.

“We are searching for survivors,” Adam replies amiably. “We seek those who need our help and offer them a place in our community.”

“Huh. Well, thank you, but our community is pretty well established. We have no need of your help.”

Adam nods. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Hold your horses!” the man barks and then, spying our cluster of vehicles, he raises his eyebrows. “That’s some nice wheels you folks have,” he remarks thoughtfully.

“Unfortunately none are for sale,” Adam makes it clear that we will not be trading. Frowning and casting another wary look at Reed, the man opens the door as wide as it can go and steps back into the house, inviting us in. The eight of us follow our host into a cosy sitting room. A fire is blazing in the fireplace and, to my surprise, a large yellow dog is asleep on a faded brown rug. It is seldom that you see domesticated animals in the barren lands, a pet is just one more mouth to feed. The flames flickering in the dimly lit room are pleasing to the eye, but the unnecessary heat makes the room cloyingly claustrophobic. The dog opens one doleful eye as we enter, but doesn’t rise. Its muzzle is greying and one of its eyes is white, shining even in the low light.

“Easy, Bear,” the man soothes unnecessarily. The dog is already snoring again. “My name is Jim,” he says, extending his hand to each of us in turn. “Please, take a seat.” We make our introductions and Jim smiles, “Forgive me if I don’t remember all of your names.” He doesn’t offer us anything to eat or drink, and I can perfectly understand why; resources in the barren lands are finite, feeding eight random strangers is not something I would expect from anyone.

“How many are there in your community?” Adam begins and Jim scratches his head before replying.

“About twenty,” he finally answers.

“And you have everything you need?” Adam persists.

“Pretty much. So, where are you from?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Adam answers. “We travel across the country; we don’t really have a fixed home-base.” I remain silent, as do the others. No one is inclined to correct Adam and hand over the secret location of our headquarters to a man we have only just met. Trust has to be earned. Besides, it doesn’t seem as though Jim is remotely interested in life outside Bakersfield.

“Where are you headed?”

“San Francisco. We’re just waiting on two of our friends,” Adam answers again. Jim nods, surveying the rest of us with mild curiosity. His eyes finally come to rest on Sofia.

“She a wetback?” he asks and we all frown in confusion. From his tone, it is clear that he is not paying Sofia a compliment and Aidan steps forward, coming to stand slightly in front of her.

“A wetback?” Adam asks enquiringly, keeping his voice light, but I can see a muscle going in his jaw. Unlike the rest of us, I think that Adam knows the meaning of the word.

“An illegal? An immigrant?” The words roll off Jim’s tongue with disdain. Aidan takes another step forward.

“Easy, Braveheart,” Reed drawls from the back of the room.

“I would think that we are all illegals,” Adam replies politely, “considering that the New United States would prefer that we didn’t exist.”

“Bah,” Jim spits. “I don’t want to hear any of that politics. I just don’t like their kind coming over here and using what little resources we have left.”

“From what I hear, more Americans fled into Mexico during the War than ever came out of it,” Adam retorts, getting suddenly to his feet. Jim leaps up and reaches for his gun. Only the slightest breeze and a sudden flickering of the fire alert any of us, but Jim’s hand comes away empty and I smile to myself.

“What in the hell . . .” he rounds on us angrily and Reed saunters across the room, the shotgun in his hands.

“Looking for this?” he asks.

“I think we should be on our way,” Adam says and, without so much as a goodbye, he walks to the door. We file out behind him, Jim’s bellows of protest following us out into the night. The dog doesn’t so much as bark and I chuckle as we head back to the cars.

We don’t have long to wait. Within an hour we hear the low growl of the Humvee’s engine approaching and a moment later the headlights come into view. Archer and Loader have made good time, but we decide to push on, not wanting to sleep in a town where we have already made an enemy. Jim is peeking at us through his yellowed net curtains, but without his gun and heavily outnumbered, he is unable to do anything to stop us. I wave at him as we pull off, earning myself a very rude hand signal that has me smiling long after we leave Bakersfield.

Chapter 27

We travel only a few miles out of town, deciding to sleep in the cars. It’s too late to find new accommodation and we will leave for Fresno in the morning. I am still of the mind that this whole exercise is a waste of our time. I’m missing Alex so much that it hurts, and I find myself obsessing over how he will react when he learns that his father is alive. To my utter anguish, Aidan is sleeping in the Humvee with Sofia and Henry. With Crackerjack gone, he is drawing closer to the father-daughter duo for companionship. At least with Henry’s chaperonage, I am fairly confident that nothing untoward is taking place. Reed is uncharacteristically quiet, his good mood over the shotgun incident didn’t last long.

“Do you think it still works?” I ask, watching him play with the gun.

“I have no idea. I can’t believe he even had one.”

“NUSA laws don’t apply here,” I point out. “Gun abolition wouldn’t have been enforced in the Rebeldom.”

“Great. So not only do we have to watch out for the crazies, but we need to be especially vigilant for the gun-wielding variety.”

“I’m pretty sure most people ran out of ammo during the rioting.”

I go to join him where he is perched on the tailgate of the truck.

“Where are you sleeping?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Right here,” he pats the flat deck behind him.

“Here it is, then.” I ease myself back into the covered space and pull out a few blankets from the pile of linen in the far corner. I spread one blanket on the cold deck and roll up another to use as a makeshift pillow.

“You coming?” I ask.

“In a minute,” he replies, easing himself up and walking away from the truck. I sigh to myself, wondering how on earth I am going to get myself out of the mess I seem to have landed in.

I wake in the morning feeling stiff. To my relief, Reed is snoring softly beside me. Maybe I am just reading too much into things. Determined to carry on as usual, I nudge him awake, earning myself a lazy grin. Still half-asleep, he reaches for me and pulls me back against his warm body, nuzzling my hair. Definitely imagining it, I think happily and allow myself to relax for a few more minutes. Eventually I hear movement outside and I get up ready to prepare for the day ahead.

“Rebecca!” I hear Jethro’s low hiss as I emerge from our makeshift quarters and my head snaps around. He is crouching a short distance away on the crest of a small hill. I jog over to him and he points down the other side. A small group of Deranged are sitting about 30 yards away, huddled around a pitiful fire. There are four in total, three men and one small child, although whether boy or girl, I can’t say for sure.

“You watch them,” I whisper. “I’m going to get Adam.” I make my way quickly back down the hill and over to the Discovery where Adam and Archer are having a conversation.

“You’ll be happy to know we’ve found some people who might need our help,” I interrupt, explaining quickly.

“You all stay here,” Adam murmurs, calling only Hope forward.

“Let me come instead,” I offer, hating the thought of the young girl going down there. The men below us appear to be unarmed, but looks can be deceptive.

“No,” Adam is firm. “You look like a soldier, Rebecca. They need to know that we pose no threat.”

I wonder for a second what he means by that, and then I remember how Jim singled Reed and me out in Bakersfield. Reed looks dangerous, I have always known that, but I never suspected that I did.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” Reed chuckles beside me. “You know you’re a bad ass.”

I don’t reply, but I can’t help the grin that stretches across my face.

“Do you think he can help them?” Sofia asks, as Adam heads up the grassy knoll, her big brown eyes gazing adoringly up at Aidan.

“If anyone can help them, Adam can,” he replies confidently. The protective way that he stands beside her, smiling tenderly and encouragingly down at her is agony, but I am conscious that Reed is watching and I keep my misery to myself.

Adam and Hope descend the hill slowly and about halfway down the small group catches sight of them. The men leap to their feet, snarling, and the one closest to us pushes the child behind him. Thankfully I do not see any weapons, but as Adam and Hope get closer still, the largest of the three men leans forward and pulls a log of wood from the fire, waving the blazing end in front of him. His message is crystal clear: don’t come any closer.

I fight the urge to go after them. If these men catch sight of the rest of us and feel any more threatened than they already do, they may react with force. Adam’s progress is infinitely slow, both his hands in front of him, palms outward. Hope mirrors his actions, placing one small foot in front of the other.

When they are only a few yards from the group, Adam comes to a halt and starts to speak in slow, steady tones. I cannot make out his words, but his body language and the hushed manner in which he is speaking is clearly peaceful. Within a matter of minutes, the three men appear to be calmer and the child is peeking around its father’s leg inquisitively. When the blazing stick is lowered slowly to the ground, Adam steps forward, his hand extended.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Reed whispers beside me. “How the hell does he do it?”

“It’s his charisma.” It is Henry who answers, so softly that I can barely hear him. “He’s almost hypnotic, you would believe anything he says, just because he says it. It’s a powerful tool and incredibly dangerous if used for the wrong reasons. Just look at Hitler. He single-handedly started one world war, and participated in another long before the 2016 holocaust, and he did it with pure magnetism. No nuclear bombs necessary. That’s true power.”

“It’s a good thing Adam’s on our side,” Jethro remarks.

I look back to see Adam gesturing up the hill towards where we are hiding.

“Archer, Loader! Come down here, will you. And bring Henry and Sofia with you.”

I frown at his choice, but the others are already making their way down the hill, leaving only the three of us Legion soldiers and Aidan behind.

“We don’t look like them,” Aidan answers my unspoken question, gesturing at the others. “They all grew up in the wastelands. You can see it in the way they carry themselves. They have all been where those men are and it shows. Us?” he smiles, indicating the four of us. “We’re too refined, too different. He’ll call us when he’s ready.” He holds my gaze slightly longer than is necessary, a strange look passing over his handsome features.

Eventually, Adam calls for the rest of us and we walk down the hill. Fighting the urge to wrinkle my nose at the smell, I shake hands with each of the Deranged in turn. They are revolting; the filth and excrement is visible to the eye, even if the smell hadn’t alerted me first.

Once all the introductions are made – one-sided of course, these men have no names – we go back up to where the vehicles are parked. Catching sight of the three cars two of the dishevelled men baulk and retreat, their eyes wide with fear. Only the man with the child shows no fear. His face is alight with wonder, his hand on the child’s shoulder. It’s hope, I realise with a start. His face is filled with hope; and I am reminded that a parent’s love knows no bounds, it’s not dictated by civilisation or society, it is a raw, inherent emotion, that is one hundred per cent human. This man is filled with hope because, for the first time, he can see a better future for his child and I can empathise only too well.

Hope and Archer take the four Deranged aside and start to get them cleaned up, giving them fresh clothes and something to eat.

“I think it’s best if I travel with them in the Humvee,” Adam suggests and I agree. That makes sense; Adam is the best suited travelling companion for these men in their fragile state. The child is a boy, recognisable now that he is not as filthy as before. His hair is longer than most girls, but rather than cut it, which would probably terrify him, Hope has washed it as best she can, pulling the matted mess into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He is probably about six or seven years old, and I smile at him as I walk to the truck and pull out one of the children’s story books we found in Los Angeles. I try to hand it to him but he will not take it and shies away, hiding behind his father’s legs. I pass the book to his dad, who nods briefly in thanks and then I walk away, not wanting to cause them any further discomfort. Out of the corner of my eye I see the book being handed to the youngster, who snatches it up happily.

Everyone is getting ready to depart and I quickly analyse the change of places. If Adam, Hope and the four newcomers are going to be travelling with Jethro, that leaves Sofia and Henry with me. Great. I quickly consider swapping them for Reed, but the thought is gone as quickly as it comes; that would be foolish. It would leave the three in the truck vulnerable without a Legion member to protect them. A small part of me is also loath to leave Aidan and Sofia together for any extended period of time.

We pile into the three vehicles and set off for Fresno. All the cities and towns are starting to blur into one as we cover so much ground. I have never travelled this extensively in the Rebeldom and although it was exciting initially, I am starting to want nothing more than to be home with Alex. I am also desperate to see for myself what is going on back at headquarters, what progress is being made with the soldiers, and to see that the others made it back safely, my father included. I have a war to plan; NUSA still needs to be defeated, and here I am on this bizarre road trip with an old Englishman and a Mexican girl as my travelling companions. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. I focus on the road, scanning both sides of the street for signs of life. Before we even reach Fresno my search results in an unlikely finding.

Henry is making polite conversation and I am answering him almost unconsciously, listening with only half an ear. I am driving so slowly that we have fallen behind the Humvee and even the truck has passed us. As I pass a side street I see something in my peripheral vision, but as I turn my head to have a proper look, we have already passed the small intersection. I screech to a halt and shift the Discovery into reverse.

“What is it?” Sofia asks, sounding panicky.

“I’m not sure,” I answer, opening my door and getting out of the SUV. To my surprise Henry follows me. The others, not yet aware that we have stopped, are just too far ahead for me to call them back, and I head down the street alone, my body on high alert. “It’s just a coyote,” I grumble, exasperated as I see the wiry body of the scavenger feeding on something small. I take a few steps closer wondering if I should fetch Archer, when I see what it is feeding on and my stomach heaves in revulsion.

“Don’t!” I yell, as Henry rushes forward. He has also realised what we are looking at. He ignores me, shooing the animal away with flapping hands, and I follow him, trying to avert my gaze from the mangled mess that can only be the body of a child. I keep my eye on the coyote, which bares its yellowed teeth in a half-snarl, but it is only for show – as we continue to approach it puts its tail between its legs and trots off to a safe distance, eyeing us warily.

“Henry, for God’s sake, leave it!” I hiss, as he reaches the child. I glance back at the car and see the Humvee backing up towards it. As the brake lights signal that it has stopped I turn back to Henry, intending to get him out of there, when an almighty yell rends the air.

“Rebecca!” Henry’s voice chills my blood and I freeze, not sure what to expect. His next words are certainly nothing I could have predicted.

“She’s alive!”

Chapter 28

It takes less than a second to reach him, and as I bend over the prostrate body of the child, my first thought is that she should be put out of her misery. My second is to wonder how Henry could possibly know that this is a little girl. Her body is covered in blood, and her legs have chunks of flesh missing. As I stare, appalled, at her grotesque injuries, she gives a whimper of pain and all thoughts fly from my head. I scoop her up out of the gutter that she is lying in and, shouting at Henry to follow me, I sprint back to the car. Jethro sees me coming and steps aside as I screech to a halt beside the Humvee.

“Open the back!” I yell, and he drops the tailgate, grabs a blanket and spreads it out. I gingerly place the child on it, glancing back to see Henry stumbling towards us as fast as his age allows. “Search the area,” I order Jethro, “she must have been travelling with someone. See if you can find them.” My hands are smeared red with her blood, and I wipe them on the back of my pants. “Hurry, Henry!” I plead, as Reed appears beside me.

“What’s going . . . Oh my God!” he sounds sickened and I turn again to check on Henry’s progress.

“She’s alive,” I whisper, frantically pushing her hair out of her face and assessing her clothes, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s not possible,” Reed interjects gently, and at the same moment the child whimpers again.

Reed and Jethro both jump back in alarm and then return, adding their own frantic hands to my efforts.

“Henry!” Reed yells, with far more urgency than me.

“I’m here,” he gasps, taking Jethro’s place beside me. “We need clean water and towels,” he instructs and Jethro blurs, appearing a minute later with the items. Sofia silently hands me Henry’s medical bag which she has fetched from the Discovery, a large rucksack that he has carried with him since we left the cruise ship. “The wounds are still fresh; the attack was recent,” Henry murmurs, his gentle hands appraising her legs.

“She might not have been attacked at all,” I point out. “Coyotes are scavengers. It might have waited for her to pass out from exhaustion or dehydration and then started feeding. She wouldn’t have had the strength to fight it off.”

“Well, at least infection hasn’t set in, although it won’t be long. She’ll need an antibiotic, that is, if she even survives.” Henry bends over the small body and I notice now, through the grime, that she’s wearing a dress. So that at least explains how he knew she was a girl. He lifts her skirt and there is a collective intake of breath. The wounds continue all the way up to her thigh. Her right leg is in a far worse condition than her left.

“I need to clean these wounds, cut away some of the flesh and then sew up what I can,” Henry explains and then, dropping his voice, “it would probably be safer just to remove the leg.”

“No!” It is Sofia who objects and, as I turn around to look at her, I notice that all the members of the Ordinary, including Aidan, are right behind her, and the four Deranged just beyond them. “She needs her legs,” Sofia entreats, her big brown eyes pleading with Henry. He looks to me, his lips pursed, deep in thought.

“Is there any way to save it?” I ask, hearing the desperate plea in my own voice.

Seeming to come to a decision Henry nods briskly. “We can certainly try,” he concedes.

Henry gets to work, Sofia beside him, acting as his nursing aide. Everyone else is keeping a safe distance, unnaturally quiet, but I cannot bring myself to leave. I stand at the little girl’s head, playing with her hair and praying as I have never prayed in my life. I know that this is probably a futile exercise. Her wounds are far too extensive for there to be any hope of survival, but we have to try. This is why we are here: to save people.

Henry uses a scalpel to cut away as much of the mangled flesh as he can, stopping every now and again to pour alcohol onto the area and press clean towels against the wounds to staunch the bleeding. Eventually, when he can do no more, he starts to stitch. He is meticulous and incredibly neat considering what he has to work with. There are no clean lines, only flaps and folds of skin and flesh.

“I can’t stitch these,” he says finally, indicating two of the larger gouges on her right leg, “they’re far too broad, we’ll just have to tape them and bandage her up and then hope for the best.” I can hear the desolation in his voice. Henry too realises that we cannot save her. He applies a thick layer of antiseptic cream and gauze and then bandages her leg tightly.

“Rebecca,” Jethro’s low voice beside me rouses me.

“What is it?” I ask, registering the bleak look on his face.

“I found a woman. Not far from the alley. She’s dead; it looks like dehydration.”

“Thanks, Jethro.”

“She needs to travel with us,” I tell Henry and he nods. “I’ll need to stay with her, I want her monitored around the clock.”

I order Jethro to pack as many of the truck’s supplies as possible into the Discovery, and the balance into the Humvee. We lay the little girl down in the truck bed, Henry and Sofia climbing in beside her.

“Tiny?” Reed’s voice breaks through my obsessive concern and I turn to face him.

“Who’s driving the Land Rover?” he asks gently.

“I . . . I . . .” I can’t bear to leave her but we cannot possibly leave the Discovery behind. Adam is unable to drive, his eyesight is too bad, and the four Deranged in the Humvee with Jethro are certainly not an option.

Reed glances past me, his eyes falling on Aidan in the front seat. The truck cab is open-ended, you can move easily between front and back through a space between the front seats. I hesitate, realising the cause for his concern. My being in such close proximity to Aidan is not something that he is happy with, but before I can offer a solution, he glances down at the sleeping child.

“I’ll follow you.” He lifts the tailgate before I can object and walks to the Discovery. I feel bad that he is travelling alone, and my heart swells with love at his selflessness. I gaze down at the little girl, her pale face glistening with sweat, and I wonder why she is so important. She is even younger than Alex, probably around four years old, petite and very underweight. I take hold of one of her icy hands, rubbing it gently between my own and willing her to fight.

Our journey to Fresno is slow going. Aidan drives carefully, avoiding potholes and debris, not wanting to jolt our young patient. Sofia and Henry are exhausted after their ‘roadside surgery’ and they are soon lulled to sleep with the rocking of the truck.

“You all okay back there?” Aidan asks, after a long period of silence.

“They’re asleep,” I answer automatically.

“Are you okay?” he presses, and I realise that I was included in his initial question.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Do you think she’s going to make it?” he asks eventually.

“No,” I reply truthfully, “I don’t.” I press my hand to my mouth trying to hold back a sob, and he turns his head, looking at me through the seats.

“Hey,” he turns back to check the road and then swivels around to face me once more. “It’s okay.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me and he cranes his neck again.

“Rebecca, come up here,” he pleads, and then, “please.” When I don’t move he tries again.

“I’m going to seriously hurt my neck if I have to keep looking back there. Just for a minute; you need to talk about it.”

“I don’t. I’m fine,” I reply, biting down on my tongue and turning my head away so he can’t see the tears springing to my eyes.

“Get up here,” his voice is low and earnest. I sigh and then, squeezing the child’s hand once more, I move slowly past her and between the seats, flopping down into the passenger seat. I twist my body so that my legs are in the space between the two seats and I am facing the back. This way I can keep my eyes on her. Aidan smiles encouragingly at me, shifting to a lower gear as we start up a steep incline.

“Seriously,” he murmurs, “are you okay?”

“She’s not going to make it,” I answer hollowly.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m fine.”

“Does she . . . does she remind you of him?” he asks, licking his lips nervously. “Of Alex?” The word sounds unfamiliar as it rolls off his tongue.

“Yeah. A bit.”

“He’s okay, though,” he points out, “he’s safe?”

“For now,” I nod.

“As sad as this is,” he gestures behind him, “your son, our son,” he corrects, “is okay.” I give a screech of hysterical laughter.

“Okay?” I ask incredulously, wiping at my eyes. “Okay? He’s about to find out that his father, who incidentally he adores, is alive but doesn’t remember who he is! How the hell am I going to explain that?” I ask, another tear tracking its way down my cheek.

“You’re not,” he says quietly. “You won’t have to explain it to him alone, Rebecca. He’s my son, too. I’ll be there to help you.”

I sniff loudly, feeling embarrassed about my outburst.

“You’re right. I’m being stupid. I’m being overemotional. She’s just too close to home.” I glance back at the slumbering child.

“What’s he like?” Aidan asks and, as always, thinking of Alex makes me smile.

“He’s gorgeous. Full of life and energy and questions. He questions everything. He has an enquiring mind.”

“What does he look like?”

“He has your eyes, but he looks like me.”

“He must be a good-looking kid.” His compliment throws me a little and I don’t answer.

“So, you seem to be getting quite close to Sofia?” I ask and he looks at me strangely.

“I, uh, I don’t really think this is something we should talk about,” he mumbles.

“You know, you’re right. It’s the last thing I want to talk about.” My voice is laced with anger and he picks it up immediately.

“I understand it must be hard for you.”

“Seeing the man you’ve loved your whole life cosying up to a complete stranger? No, not at all, why would you say that?” I retort sarcastically.

He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. And the man whose fault it is paid for it with his life.”

I am still not sure how I feel about Eric. A part of me wants to hate him, the part that doesn’t want to deal with the fact that I may have been wrong, that Eric may not have been all bad. He was my husband for over three years and all that time I had worked against him. I can’t help but wonder what might have happened if I had confided in him, if he had confided in me. Would things be any different? Might we have been on the same side, united against a common enemy? Adam’s words come back to me: the enemy of your enemy is your friend.

A few minutes go by and I keep my eyes on our patient.

“You really loved me your whole life?” Aidan keeps his gaze fixed on the road as he breaks the silence.

“Yes.”

“And I loved you?”

“Madly,” I smile. “You used to say that I was your orbit. That your path just seemed to . . .”

“. . . revolve around you,” he finishes unthinkingly, and with a jolt of shock, we jerk our heads to stare at each other. “Why would I say that?” he asks, sounding startled.

“You always say that,” I whisper, not daring to breathe.

“I do?” he frowns, a perplexed expression on his face. “I can’t remember . . . Why can’t I remember anything?” He hits the steering wheel angrily and Sofia calls suddenly from the back, “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Aidan replies, smiling reassuringly at her in the rear-view mirror. He glances across at me briefly and then turns his attention back to the road, almost as if wishing I wasn’t sitting there beside him. “Nothing,” he murmurs again, a blank mask settling on his face. I ease myself back between the seats, settling into my original position beside the injured girl, my head swimming with a myriad questions that I know there are no answers to.

By the time we reach Fresno the sun is setting and the child has not woken. She is still deathly pale, and I have taken to checking her pulse every few minutes, in case she dies in her sleep. Henry will only change the bandages in the morning and, if she survives the night, he will start her on a course of oral antibiotics. While Archer goes in search of food and the others search the vicinity, checking that there is no danger nearby and finding a suitable place for us to sleep, I set about cleaning the child. Henry soon joins me.

“She needs a name,” I murmur, wiping down her body with a damp cloth. She is shivering slightly, but I have stripped her of her filthy, blood-stained clothes and have found a woman’s size T-shirt in the pile of clothes we packed into the Humvee. It is far too big, but at least it’s clean.

“She may have one already,” Henry says.

“She needs a name,” I stress. If she never wakes up we will have to bury her. I cannot bury a nameless child. Henry seems to understand.

“Maggie,” he offers.

“Maggie?”

“Yes. After Maggie Thatcher. She was the first female British prime minister. Come to think of it, she was the only female prime minister. Unless there’s been another since the war – I’m not really up to speed with British current affairs,” he says, tongue in cheek. “Anyway, many of my fellow countrymen didn’t really hold her in high esteem, but I always liked old Maggie.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” I laugh, “but Maggie it is.” I wipe away the last traces of dirt and slip the T-shirt over her head.

“Please get well, Maggie,” I whisper, kissing her forehead.

The others spend the night in various buildings, but I stay in the truck with Maggie, still checking her pulse every so often. I convince Henry to get some rest and eventually he consents, dragging a weary Sofia with him. Reed climbs in with me a little after dark.

“Sleep, Tiny,” he urges, pulling my head down onto his lap. “I’ll keep an eye on her.” Secure in the knowledge that he will do as he says, I fall into a fitful sleep, my dreams filled with visions of mutilated children.

At some point during the night I am woken by the sounds of Henry rummaging through his bag for more fever medication, which he gets down Maggie’s throat with great difficulty. Fully awake, I reach for her hand, which seems warmer and less clammy than before. I tell Reed to get some sleep and I lie next to her, stroking her hair.

“We’ll change the bandages in the morning,” Henry whispers in the dark.

“She seems a little better,” I mention just before he leaves. He is silent for a long moment and I can sense the compassion radiating off him.

“Let’s just see what tomorrow brings.”

I open my eyes in the morning and a pair of green eyes stares back at me. I jerk back with a start, colliding with Reed, who sits straight up with a bellow of surprise.

“You’re awake,” is all I can think of saying as I stare at Maggie. She is still very pale, but there is no sweat beading on her brow and there are two faint roses of colour on her cheeks. She doesn’t say a word, but regards me curiously.

“Get Henry,” I whisper and Reed climbs out of the truck.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Maggie.

“Where’s my mommy?” Her voice is lilting and she has a slight lisp.

“Oh honey, I’m not sure.”

Henry, thankfully, arrives before she can say anything else. “What’s your name, love?” he asks, checking her pulse rate.

“Brooke,” she replies shyly.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he smiles. “So much for Maggie,” he mutters.

“She’s seems much better,” I say hopefully.

“We should change her bandages.”

“Henry?” There is something he’s not telling me.

“I won’t know until we change them,” he insists, and then, seeing my expression, he sighs.

“Brooke, we’ll be back in a minute. My daughter Sofia is going to sit with you.”

Brooke nods indifferently and Henry signals me to follow him. Once outside, I raise my voice slightly.

“What’s going on, Henry. She’s better, right?”

“It could be the surge,” he mumbles.

“The what?”

“The surge. It’s hard to explain, but sometimes, a few days, even a few hours before death, patients suddenly experience a surge of energy. They seem to be getting better, remarkably so, but it doesn’t change the outcome.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But true,” he meets my gaze levelly. “You’ve seen her injuries, Rebecca. You may not be a doctor, but what do you think?”

I avert my eyes, frowning in consternation. Brooke’s injuries are the worst I have seen in a long time, but I look Henry right in the eye as I lie with all the conviction I can muster.

“She’s going to be fine.”

Henry smiles indulgently. “Okay, then, let’s go and change those bandages.”

I brace myself as Henry pulls back Brooke’s blankets and slowly raises the hem of the oversized T-shirt I have dressed her in. I am sitting near her head, smoothing her hair and trying to distract her, but it’s not really working. I can see the fear and the trepidation on her little face. Henry very carefully starts to unravel the bandages, rolling them back up as he goes. Suddenly, he sits back, drops his hands to his sides and stares down at her. His face is as white as a sheet. Oh God, it’s bad.

Sofia, distracted from her chore of preparing the new bandages, looks down to see why he has hesitated. She does a double take and crosses herself. I am about to snap at them for their lack of consideration, when a huge smile breaks over Henry’s face.

“What is it?” I ask, hope flaring in my chest.

“A miracle,” he answers mysteriously and I look to Sofia for an explanation.

“It’s impossible,” she whispers.

“What is?”

“See for yourself,” Henry moves slightly to the left and I have a full view of both her legs.

“Are the angels coming for me?” Brooke’s small voice breaks the stunned silence and I look down at her.

“No, sweetheart. You’re going to be fine.” I can’t help myself and I start to laugh, Henry and Sofia joining in. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Chapter 29

“She’s healing,” I tell Reed. “She’s Gifted. He raises his eyebrows disbelievingly.

“No way. How? She’s four years old! Who would do that to a little kid?”

“I have no idea.” I shake my head. I completely understand his disgust, the Gifting procedures are highly risky, and to put a child’s life in jeopardy is beyond my comprehension. I have seen this before, though. Morgan and Michael Kelly’s mother did the same thing. She risked her children’s lives, giving them the Gifts of strength and speed. She did it to save them, to give them a fighting chance in the war that was coming, but she did not survive her own procedure. The siblings’ father, Simon Kelly, was working for Eric and he had been willing to hand them over to the Dane army without a second thought. At least Maria Kelly’s intentions had been pure – she had genuinely wanted to protect her children. Perhaps Brooke’s mother had done the same – who am I to judge a person without knowing all the facts?

“I don’t like it either,” I say, “but regardless of whoever gave that child her ability or why, it has just saved her life.”

Brooke is sitting with Adam at the fire, her intelligent eyes alive with excitement. She is in awe of Adam, who is regaling her with stories, and we have let her loose among the toy supplies, along with the young Deranged boy. Adam has named him Oliver after some orphan character in an old book he has read. The two children were overwhelmed at first but, having discovered the joys of toy cars and teddy bears, they soon settled down together.

I watch fondly as Brooke unconsciously fiddles with her bandages. Her wounds, though improving, are by no means completely healed and Henry is keeping them wrapped and coated in antiseptic cream to ward off infection. At the rate she is healing, he will probably need to take the stitches out this evening so that they do not become embedded in the new tissue. The antibiotics have also been deemed unnecessary.

“She must have been living within the fences,” Reed interrupts my musings. “It’s the only way she could have had the procedure.”

“Unless someone out here is doing it.”

“That’s highly unlikely.” He’s right. The materials and the serum, never mind the high-tech laboratory apparatus needed to facilitate the procedures are hardly easy to come by. And as far as we know, there are very few people who are capable of administering the procedures to begin with.

“So what were they doing all the way out here?” I ponder. “Why leave the safety of the States?”

“Maybe you should ask her that,” Reed nods in Brooke’s direction.

I wait until after lunch and then I take her aside. Very carefully, I broach the subject of her mother and her face falls. She knows, I realise, as she starts opening up. Brooke knows that her mother is dead. She remembers her collapsing and not getting up again. She stayed with her during the night and then went in search of water, but she didn’t make it far before she fell on the street, her own strength failing her. She vaguely remembers the coyote.

“Where did you come from, before you ended up here?” I ask. “Did you cross any fences; do you remember?” She shakes her head, no. They moved from place to place, I gather, as she continues, never settling anywhere. A nomadic lifestyle in the barren lands with a small child is no easy feat; I’m surprised they survived as long as they did. I can’t help thinking that she is wrong about crossing the fences. Reed is right, there is no other way she could have been Gifted.

“Well, you’re safe now,” I promise, and her grateful smile melts my heart.

We spend two days in Fresno but we do not find any Deranged. Adam approaches a man on the street on the day of our departure, but this man is impervious to his charms. When Adam is within striking distance the man launches himself at him, his eyes rolling crazily in his head, saliva dripping from his mouth as he lets out an inhuman howl. Archer’s shot hits him square in the chest and he drops instantly, as Adam stands perfectly still before him.

“Freaking Rados,” Archer mutters under his breath, “there’s no reasoning with them.” I’m suitably impressed.

Archer’s skills with the bow are astounding. I am also surprised at how easily he killed a man in order to protect Adam, and how calmly everyone accepts this. I realise for the first time that although Adam is a saviour, his primary aim to protect and help those in need, he is no soft target. His compassion is not a weakness, and he will kill to protect himself and those around him. He is far more of a warrior than I initially gave him credit for, and I begin to believe that the Ordinary army may just be an asset in our war against NUSA.

The cities pass by in a blur, and we pick up two more Deranged along the way, one woman and one man, only two miles apart, near the city of Madera. There are now seventeen of us travelling in the three vehicles and I am beginning to worry about running out of space. The Deranged who we have picked up along the way are used to living in isolation, and my main concern is that travelling in such close proximity to others could unhinge them and result in catastrophe.

“If we find any more survivors where do you plan on putting them?” I ask Adam early one morning, before we continue north.

“We’ll make space,” he says, after a moment’s consideration, but he seems concerned too.

“Maybe,” I answer, “but if not, we may have to consider going back and offloading. We can always return later.” I can see that he is not happy with my suggestion, but he doesn’t argue.

It is in Modesto that we find a solution. Loader discovers an old Modesto Area Express bus. I have never seen the big man so animated. The fifty-seater bus is obviously not running, but Loader is confident that he can get it going with a bit of help from the motor vehicle parts we found in LA.

“I’ll need a couple of days,” he booms in his deep baritone voice.

“A bus,” Reed’s voice oozes disdain and I rub his shoulder sympathetically. He has just got used to the truck and its speed restrictions, and now this.

Brooke is completely healed and she has quickly wormed her way into our hearts. She is also bringing Oliver out of his shell and, as I watch them climbing all over the seats of the bus, I can’t help but remember Aidan and me at that age. We were full of the same exuberant energy. Brooke is fearless and, proving me wrong, she is not in the least bit intimidated by the Deranged. Not only does she not keep her distance, but she actually seems to gravitate towards them, her curiosity outweighing any reservations she may have about invading their personal space. Surprisingly, they are all too happy to indulge her, seemingly entertained by her antics. Oliver’s father keeps a surreptitious eye on his son, but I can see the smile simmering just below the surface. He and the other two Deranged men who we found him with do not speak much, but Adam spends a few hours with them each day, as well as the other man and woman we picked up along the way.

There is no point in cleaning up any of the rooms in town to sleep in, we are not going to be here long, so we all sleep in the cars. The Deranged are sleeping in the bus. It’s big enough for them each to have their own section and not encroach on one another’s space. Having enough food to go around satisfies their primary need of hunger, and this goes a long way to keeping the peace. In the barren lands, the Deranged fight over territory and resources, but nothing causes quite so much conflict as food. They will kill for it.

I watch with a heavy heart as Aidan and Sofia draw closer together, spending hours alone and forming their own little couple within our group. Sofia is charming and her doe-eyed innocence would pull at even the hardest heart strings. I keep my distance, staying as far away from the two as I can. I don’t want to witness their budding relationship, nor do I want to see for myself the appeal that she holds for Aidan. I can’t bring myself to become close to a woman who may be garnering the affections of the man who was my first love and my soul mate. Reed is outwardly the same as ever, but he misses nothing and he rarely touches me when we put our heads down at night. I want to reassure him, but I am so confused I can’t find the words, and so we lie next to each other night after night, worlds apart.

It takes a week for Loader to get the bus going. The seven days we spend in Modesto are the closest to feeling normal that I have experienced since we left Las Vegas. The sense of community developing within the group is undeniable, and I find that, for just a short while, I am able to forget we are at war. Watching the transformation of the Deranged first hand is inspiring. They are communicating well and showing an interest in all facets of our way of living. The lone man we found in Madera has latched onto Archer and accompanies him on all his hunting trips, eager to learn.

On the eve of our departure I am walking to the fire to join the others. Not paying attention to where I am going, I am startled by the sound of voices. Curious, I follow the sound and am surprised to discover Aidan and Archer lying on the grass in a nearby garden. Realising I am invading their privacy, I am about to turn back when I hear my own name and I freeze. Peeking over the low wall, I keep absolutely still and listen intently.

“I can’t believe you two were an item,” Archer laughs and Aidan shoves his shoulder, a grin on his handsome face.

“Yeah, you and me both.”

“She’s very easy on the eye,” Archer points out and I feel my cheeks go warm. Aidan’s response, however, makes me blink in surprise.

“She’s just a bit too surreal, though, you know what I mean?” he asks and Archer nods. “I mean, she’s gorgeous and kick-ass, but how do you compete with that? How do you ever feel good enough?”

“I’m sure she just wants what every woman wants, Aidan; to be loved and to be treated like a lady. Speaking of ladies, how’s the delectable Sofia treating you?” Archer’s suggestive tone and Aidan’s answering smirk make me want to throw something at both of them.

They are silent for a moment and I mull over Aidan’s words. Is that really what they think? Do I come across as some untouchable, inhuman person, with nothing to offer? Do my abilities make me seem hard, incapable of normal emotions? I now understand why Sofia has such appeal. Not only is she gorgeous, but she’s soft and vulnerable, she plays on men’s natural protective instincts. I feel a twinge of regret that Aidan has no memory of our early years together, when he was protecting me and not the other way around. I am shocked as his next words ring out.

“She gets under my skin.”

“Sofia?” Archer asks and Aidan shakes his head.

“No, Rebecca. I mean, there’s something there, something I just can’t put my finger on.” He hesitates before continuing, “I don’t like the Southerner. He’s an arrogant bastard.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s the only reason he annoys you,” Archer laughs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on! If there’s anyone out there who can make Rebecca feel soft and feminine, it would be Reed.” Aidan doesn’t reply and I risk another peek over the fence. His face is a mask of irritation. Archer seems to realise that his comment may not have been appropriate. “You have a history, I’m sure that’s got to play havoc with your head,” Archer justifies. “It must suck to be you, dude.”

“You have no idea,” Aidan answers, and before I can change my mind, I leave to join the others.

The day we depart for San Francisco, the air is alive with excitement. Brooke insists on travelling in the bus with Oliver, and so we load all of the Deranged into the massive vehicle. Adam and Hope join Loader, who is driving, to make sure that everyone behaves. Surprisingly, Hope is amazing with the youngsters and spends hours every day entertaining them, teaching them. I notice too that she is always aware of their whereabouts. I wonder if her concern for them stems from her own abandonment, if perhaps that’s why she wants to ensure that they are safe and taken care of. Aidan takes the truck and Sofia and Henry climb in with him. I incline my head at Jethro, who sighs as he walks away from the Humvee. I cannot let those three travel without protection.Reed grins and takes the Humvee keys and a moment later Archer jumps in with him.

“We’ll escort the bus,” I tell him through the open window. “I’ll ride ahead of it, you two follow behind.” Reed nods and guns the engine, unashamedly delighted to be back in the military vehicle.

“You gonna be okay on your own?” he asks.

“Some peace and quiet? Hell, yes,” I grin, turning and making my way back to my trusty Discovery.

The 92-mile journey to San Francisco is slow but steady going. I follow the truck, keeping a keen eye on the bus behind me. A few times we have to detour, the bigger vehicle unable to make it through the rough terrain, but by lunchtime we rumble into San José. The truck comes to a creaking halt and I stop behind it. I make my way back to the bus, climbing in and smiling at the motley crew.

“I think we should press on, we can make it to San Francisco by nightfall,” I tell Adam, who looks about to argue. “We can search this city on the way back,” I continue, “but let’s start with San Francisco.” He nods, understanding my reasoning. I want to get as far north as we intend to go and then work our way back so that if we run out of space, unlikely as that may be now that we have the bus, we can head straight home.

I am about to turn and climb down the rusted steps when a shout of alarm from the rear of the bus gets my attention. I race to the back of the big vehicle and peer through the filthy glass. Archer is waving his hands over his head. Reed has his back to me, his shoulders tensed, his gaze fixed on something beyond him. I look down the street we have just travelled, and I realise what it is they are trying to tell me. I fly back down the bus.

“Start the engine!” I yell at Loader who does as I say. “Now, get out of here as fast as this piece of shit can go!” I race down the steps, cross the street and leap up onto the side rail of the truck. Aidan and Henry are chatting amiably and Jethro is sitting quietly just behind them.

“Jethro, we’ve got a problem,” I pant, and they all turn to stare at me, eyes wide with panic. “Aidan, head north. Don’t stop until we catch you up. Go, now!” I roar, as he opens his mouth to question. “Foot flat,” I add, jumping back down to the street. Jethro is already beside me, awaiting instructions. I hit the side of the truck hard enough to leave a dent and Aidan needs no further prompting. The truck pulls off in a cloud of smoke, the bus weaving around the Discovery to follow it.

Chapter 30

Jethro and I speed back to Reed and Archer. The mob of angry, armed savages has already covered over half the distance between them.

“You think we can reason with this lot?” Reed asks sardonically.

“Probably not,” I roll my eyes, “although you’re welcome to try.” I gesture him forward, smiling sweetly. He winks and then we turn to face the horde.

There are probably about a hundred of them. Angry, depraved, grotesque faces, swarming down the street like locusts. They all have weapons of some sort; primitive, but deadly. Rados. A whole lot of Rados.

“I’m not going to enjoy this,” Jethro says, sounding sick.

“Me neither,” I agree. Killing these tragic victims of the war is hardly something I would ever want to do, but I will protect my new family. The truck and the bus are far too slow to outrun this mob, all we need is one detour and they will catch us up. At the very least, we need to buy them some time to get far enough away so that there is no possibility of that happening.

“Archer, take the Land Rover and get out of here.” I suddenly realise that he is still there.

“No way,” he replies levelly, drawing his bow and pulling an arrow from his sheath. Taking careful aim, he lets go and, with a hiss, it flies straight and true, hitting one of the oncoming horde right in the chest. The man falls to the ground but before I can say a word, another Rado has fallen right beside the first.

“Take cover,” I yell at Archer, “keep shooting, but stay out of their way. You’re no use to me dead!” He lets off one last shot and then shoulders his bow and climbs over the hood of an abandoned car nearby. He leaps from the roof onto the low awning of a bakery and then sprints up it, jumping and catching hold of the edge of the building with his hands. Showing amazing agility, he pulls himself up and then he disappears.

“He’s like a freaking cat,” Reed drawls as he watches. Bracing ourselves, we wait until the advancing horde is only a few yards away and then we scatter, streaking in different directions. The crowd screeches to a halt, confused and unable to keep track of our movements. A few at the back collide with the front runners who have stopped, and one man trips and falls flat on his face. Getting up with an angry roar he turns and lashes out at the man behind him with a blunt axe. The blade cracks his skull clean in two and I shudder in revulsion. I make my way a short distance down the street and then I whistle softly, getting their attention.

With a collective howl of rage, they stampede down the street towards me. I stand still, waiting. I see Reed and Jethro fly at them from either side, each pulling two men out of the throng. Our attackers possess no exceptional qualities, they are fuelled by pure insanity and many are malnourished. The Rados are cannibalistic; they feed off each other and have no value for human life. Again and again, Reed and Jethro dive into the fray, picking out men and dispatching them. As I watch, an arrow strikes one of the men closest to me, piercing his eye and projecting out through the back of his skull. I turn and see Archer crouched on top of one of the buildings to my right, already taking aim again.

I race forward, surging through the crowd. I knock over as many men as I kill, the force of my momentum knocking them down like bowling skittles. By the time I emerge on the other side, there is a clear pathway through the horde, a multitude of bodies prostrate on the ground. The mob, now divided in two, gaze down in confusion at those who are dead or have fallen, unable to comprehend the damage. About a third of their number is already defeated, and Reed and Jethro show no sign of slowing down. I am about to turn to get Reed’s attention when I am grabbed from behind. I feel a blazing pain in the curve of my neck just above my right shoulder as my attacker sinks his teeth into my flesh, and I cry out involuntarily at the pain. Not again.

Before I can retaliate, I am jolted forward with incredible force and I slump to my knees, not able to withstand it. I turn back to see Reed standing over my assailant’s broken body, murder in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” His chest is heaving.

“I’m fine,” I mumble. There is no time to assess the damage; Jethro is fighting alone against a small army. Favouring my right arm, which is agony every time I raise it, I lay into the next Rado who jumps out at me. In my peripheral vision I see another creeping up beside me, a heavy hammer in his hand, but as he raises it an arrow bursts through his chest, a dark red stain blossoming around it. I incline my head briefly at Archer, who is shouldering his bow and making his way along the rooftops towards the Humvee. The sheath bouncing against his back is empty.

“Let’s go!” I yell, streaking around the melee, in the direction of the Discovery. Reed and Jethro don’t need to be told twice and a moment later we reach the cars. “I can’t drive!” I yelp, clutching my neck.

“Jethro!” Reed tosses the Humvee keys across to him. Jethro, delighted to be back in the monstrous vehicle, leaps into the driver’s seat and Archer jumps in beside him. I make my way to the passenger side of the Discovery and I have barely closed the door when Reed guns the accelerator. We slide across the street, the tyres squealing in protest. The Humvee shadows us, roaring away from the pursuing crowd.

“Why didn’t we finish them off?” Reed asks, yanking at the steering wheel to avoid slamming into an old dumpster.

“We did enough damage,” I gasp, not wanting to admit that I couldn’t fight off a flea in my present state. “Besides, the others have long gone, there’s no way they’ll catch them now.”

“We still have to come back this way,” he points out.

“We’ll drive straight through them if we have to,” I force a grin.

Pulling off my hoodie, wincing at even the slightest movement, I bundle it up into a ball and press it down on the gaping wound. My shirt is soaked with blood. I can feel it trickling down my side and across my stomach. Reed presses his foot down even harder on the accelerator, increasing the distance between us and the Humvee following behind.

“Don’t lose them,” I caution, but he ignores me.

“We need to get you to the Doc.”

The others have made it well out of the city by the time we catch up to them, and Reed blares on the Discovery’s horn, signalling to the bus to pull over. I close my eyes, trying not to think about the pain when Reed snatches open my door and picks me up gently, mindful not to jar my injured side. He lowers me to the ground and Henry removes the sodden hoodie, exposing the gaping hole. I feel dizzy and the faces above me swim in my vision.

“Rebecca!” I hear Aidan’s concerned voice. Nice to know he cares. “I told you we should have gone back!” he roars at Adam, who is standing just behind him, watching me carefully.

“I’ll heal,” I murmur, embarrassed by all the fuss. Strangely, it is Aidan who is crouched by my side and I smile reassuringly up at him. His face is pale and he recoils as he catches sight of the wound. Taking my hand in both of his warm ones, he squeezes it tightly.

“You’re going to be fine,” he says, his warm brown eyes not leaving my face. I wish I could keep my eyes open, that I could stay in this moment where Aidan is looking at me the way he used to. But not even my longing can keep me conscious and my eyes flutter once, twice, and then I remember nothing else.

I wake feeling stiff and sore. I reach up and feel the bandages covering my neck and shoulder. It is dark and eerily quiet, and from my surroundings I gather I am in the bed of the truck. I focus on my body but, other than the residual pain, there is nothing. The bandages are dry, I am no longer bleeding and I can still feel the faint tingle of the healing process at work.

“How are you feeling?” The husky drawl from right beside me startles me.

“Seriously, you have got to stop doing that.” I smile in the dark.

“You okay?” Reed presses.

“Fine.” I can’t believe that this is the second time I’ve been bitten by these savages.

“Good.” There is so much meaning in that small insignificant word. I am tired, sore and confused, but for some reason all I can think about in this moment is him.

“Your boyfriend took it pretty badly,” Reed begins, but I don’t let him finish. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Aidan’s momentary concern. I’m tired of the mind games. I just want to forget about everything. I lean forward suddenly, taking him by complete surprise, and press my lips against his. He tries to pull back, but I weave my hands through his hair and pull him forward, nipping his lip with my teeth. He opens his mouth to protest, but I seize the opportunity and I slip my tongue into his open mouth. He hesitates for only a moment, and then his big hands grip my hips, lifting me up and onto his lap. Passion flares in the pit of my stomach and starts to burn its way through my entire body, right down to my fingertips. I am ripping at his clothing and I cannot seem to get close enough. I want to climb inside his skin, and I rake my nails down his back so hard that I’m surprised I don’t draw blood. Reed reacts with the same primal need and he throws me back onto the hard bed of the truck, gazing down at me with heavy-lidded eyes before lowering his body onto mine.

In the morning I wake up alone. I unravel the bandages impatiently, revealing the smooth skin underneath. No scars mark the place where I was bitten, and I wonder if the scars inside heal as easily. I get dressed and head outside, stopping in surprise as I look down at the scene below me. We have reached the City by the Bay.

San Francisco looks much the same as Los Angeles – a grey, dreary, depressing shell of what was once the second most densely populated city in the United States. I follow the sound of voices and find the others sitting around a fire eating breakfast. Reed looks up and meets my eye, and I smile unashamedly at him. Aidan is watching me, but I avoid his gaze. Sofia is sitting beside him, looking downcast, and I find myself wondering how she feels about his emotional outburst yesterday.

Reed is perched on a low concrete wall and I sit at his feet, leaning back against his legs. The heat from his body warms my back and I smile up at him. His delight at my public display of affection is obvious, and he ruffles my hair, handing me a piece of toasted, slightly stale bread that Peter’s wife had sent with Loader and Archer. Brooke is teaching Oliver how to do cartwheels and the Deranged are sitting together, watching them.

“We should get this show on the road,” Reed stands, offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet. He squeezes my butt as I walk away and I grin back at him, noticing the sudden frown on his handsome face. I turn around to see what is bothering him and I collide with Aidan.

“Can we talk?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at Reed over my head. Perplexed, I look from one to the other.

“Sure,” I nod and follow him a little way up the street, out of earshot. He turns into a small alleyway. “What’s up?” I ask, after a minute of silence.

“Look, I don’t know how to say this, but . . .” he hesitates, staring at me intently.

“What?” I ask, mystified.

“I don’t like, I mean, it’s none of my business, but . . .” he stops suddenly and I can’t help but laugh.

“You know, you used to be a lot more eloquent,” I tease.

Without warning, he grabs my shoulders and kisses me. I am too stunned to react and I stand completely still, my eyes wide with surprise. I can feel the hardness of his chest against mine, and the racing of his heart beneath my hands as I lift them to try to stop him. My head swims with the smell of him and the familiarity that I can’t resist, and the next moment I am kissing him back, knowing how wrong it is, but unable to stop myself. I can feel he is also trying to restrain himself but his physical need wins out and he pulls me closer. He runs his hand down my back, over my jeans and down the back of my thigh, coming to rest behind my knee which he lifts suddenly, pulling my body even closer against him. I am lost in a sweet, painful place. And then suddenly I am angry as hell. I push at his chest and he stumbles backwards.

“How dare you!” I hiss, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and trying to bring my breathing back to normal.

“I’m sorry!” He holds up his hands in surrender, his own chest heaving. “I had to try, I had to see if . . .”

“If what, Aidan?” I holler, sending a few small birds flapping from a nearby rooftop. “If you still felt anything? If you would feel any guilt moving forward with Sofia?” Her name drips off my tongue with contempt and he flinches.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“I’m not a plaything, Aidan. You can’t toy with my emotions. I don’t deserve it.”

“I know that,” he admits, looking suitably repentant. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I just, when I saw you hurt like that . . . I can’t explain how I felt. I’ve been with Adam for six months – he’s like family to me – but the way I reacted when you were hurt, the way I yelled at him . . . I still can’t believe I did that. I didn’t give a damn about Adam or any of the others.” He looks at me, a frustrated expression on his face. “All I cared about was you.” He laughs without humour. “And the kicker is, I don’t even know you. Why am I feeling like this? I don’t love you, but I can’t stand the way he touches you.”

I close my eyes feeling the tears pricking at my eyelids. These words are so wonderful to hear, it is as if he is expressing everything I have been feeling since I found him. But he said it himself, he doesn’t love me. I can imagine how frustrating it must be for him, but I have to protect my own heart, and the brave man I have fallen in love with.

“Aidan,” I’m relieved to hear that I sound stronger than I feel, “you can’t do this. What we had, the life that we shared, it’s in the past. God knows how much I wish that wasn’t the case, but it’s reality. Life is so short and I don’t want to waste it wanting and wishing. I love Reed, he’s good for me and he would die to protect me. I won’t hurt him. I want to try and make a life with him.” I meet his gaze levelly. “And you have feelings for Sofia.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway. “I know you don’t need my blessing but you have it all the same. Don’t hold back because of me. What’s the point? When we get back to Vegas you can reconnect with Alex, you can be his father. You’ll learn how,” I add as he looks overwhelmed. “Hopefully you and I . . . well, we can be friends. But right now? I’ve got a job to do, the same job I had when I left you and Alex. My mission is not over. We need to get on with our lives before we lose what we have, what’s right in front of us.”

I turn and walk towards the main street and then I pause and look back at him. “What happened here, I know you felt it. I did too. That’s what you and I had. That’s what I live with. You’re lucky you don’t remember.” I bite my lip as a tear tracks its way down my cheek. “But it’s dangerous. It’s powerful. And it can hurt us.”

He doesn’t say a word and I swallow down the lump in my throat. “We’d better get back, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Chapter 31

Everything is packed and ready to go and I hop into the Discovery beside Reed.

“You’re giving up your beloved Humvee so easily?” I tease and he turns to stare at me, his eyes hollow. “I love you,” I say pointedly, squeezing his hand. He smiles, looking like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Ah, Sexy Bex,” he drawls, “life with you will never be boring, I’ll tell you that much.”

I push aside my misgivings about letting the others drive in the truck unprotected; we are only travelling a few miles into the city.

“What is that?” I muse idly, as a nearby building catches my eye. There is a crack running vertically up the wall, so wide in some places I could fit my entire fist through it. It is as if the very structure has been cleaved in two. I cock my head to the side, following the line of the fissure up the side of the tall building, wondering how far up it reaches. The instant that we draw alongside it, I realise what has happened, and I yell a warning to Reed, but I am too late. The ground below us gives an ominous creak, and the Discovery lurches violently.

“What the hell!” Reed seems to come to the same conclusion quickly, and he rams his foot on the gas. The Discovery tyres find purchase, and with a lot of bouncing and sliding, we make it to firmer ground, while huge chunks of tarmac cave in just behind us. Frantically, I swivel in my seat to check on the other cars. The bus, which was right behind us, has dropped precariously, the tail end hanging over a newly formed crevice in the road. As I watch, another large crack appears just a few yards to the left of the bus and the earth below us shakes violently, rocking the Discovery. I leap out of the car and streak towards the bus.

“Get out!” I yell, realising what is happening.

The northern segment of the San Andreas Fault runs right up the San Francisco peninsula. In this region, around the San Francisco bay area, several significant sister faults run more or less parallel, and each of these can create earthquakes of immensely destructive proportions. Over the last three decades, an earthquake of great magnitude must have disrupted this area, compromising the structural integrity of the street we are travelling on and the adjacent buildings. The weight of our cars was too much for the weakened surface and had caused a landfall.

I watch in horror as the crack spreads towards the bus, tilting the vehicle precariously onto its side. Hope appears at the door, clutching the side rail, it is too high and too far for them to jump to safety. Further back, Jethro and Archer are making their way away from the Humvee, and Aidan is helping Sofia and Henry out of the truck.

I sprint to the front of the bus, Reed right behind me, and I leap up onto the hood. Reed jumps up on the opposite side.

“Get back!” I shout through the glass as the occupants inside swarm towards us. Adam shepherds everyone away from the front windshield, and Hope bends instinctively over the children, protecting them as I kick it in, the shattering glass raining into the bus.

“Okay, come on!” I yell, calling them back, and they hurriedly make their way to us. I grab Brooke first and pull her out, dropping down onto the ground and sprinting forward to deposit her in the middle of the street near the Discovery. Reed places Oliver right beside her. The others are already clambering out by themselves and we help them down, one by one. Only a few are left inside when the bus gives another lurch and Hope hits her head hard on the window frame. I grab her hand and pull, jerking her out and catching her as she falls.

“Are you okay?” I push back her hair and see a trickle of blood pouring down her forehead. We escort everyone to the relative safety of the street further up, past where we have parked the Discovery. Hope is still bleeding – she needs medical attention.

“Henry!” I yell, looking around. I whip my head left and right trying to locate him and my heart misses a beat when I finally spot him.

Aidan, Henry and Sofia are caught between the truck and the enormous crack in the street. The truck’s right front wheel has dropped into the precipice and the whole vehicle is at a perilous angle, looming over them. It could topple over at any second and they have nowhere to go. I race back towards them, racking my brain, and then, without overthinking it, I race towards the expansive chasm. I push off as hard as I can when I reach the edge and I soar through the air, my arms wind-milling wildly. I hit the ground hard, my impetus throwing me forward and my shoulder connecting painfully with the side of the truck. Cursing loudly, I assess the situation, wondering what on earth I can do to help. A flying figure soars over us, hitting the truck even harder than I did.

“Motherfucker!” Reed howls, clutching his right arm which is rotated at an unnatural angle.

Another small section of the tarmac cleaves away dangerously close to where we are standing and Sofia slips, Aidan hauling her back to her feet. He is assessing the gaping hole too, and I stop him, knowing exactly what he is thinking.

“You’ll never make it!” I yell above the thundering noise and he spins around and searches for another way to safety.

“What if we go over the truck?” he asks, pointing up at it as it looms over us. Reed is still swearing.

“Henry!” I practically shriek into Henry’s ear. “His shoulder’s dislocated, you need to pop it back in!” I pull him towards Reed and he nods determinedly. Reed stands still, bracing himself against the truck and squeezing his eyes shut. Henry grabs his arm, indicating that I should support him.

I stand behind Henry, gripping him just under his armpits and standing with my feet apart, trying to keep myself as stable as possible and praying that the ground beneath us stays put long enough for us to get out of here.

“One! Two!” I hear the pop even above Reed’s howl of agony.

“What happened to three?” he roars, tears of pain streaming down his face. Henry shrugs and I let go of him. He slips immediately as the ground shudders beneath us. There is an ominous creak and I look up to see the truck finally overturning, as though in slow motion. I throw up my arms as it rushes down to meet me, and the impact as it lands on my outstretched hands jolts through my body, right down to my toes, almost knocking me to my knees. My jaw knocks together so hard that I bite through my tongue and I swallow down the blood, using every ounce of strength I have to stay on my feet. I meet Aidan’s horrified gaze.

“Go! Get them over!” I yell, spitting out more blood. My arms are shaking with exertion and I don’t know if I am going to be able to hold the truck long enough for them to get to safety. Suddenly the pressure eases ever so slightly, and I look to the left to see Reed adding his strength. He is only able to use his left hand, his right arm lying limply at his side, but even with one hand, Reed’s strength is staggering.

I smile painfully at him and we watch as Aidan gives Henry a boost up. Sofia is already scrabbling over the top of the truck and I grit my teeth, determined to hang on just a little bit longer. Without warning, the earth gives another violent tilt, this time however, from the opposite side. The truck lifts off our hands and tilts the other way, towards the side that the others have just disappeared over.

“No!” I scream, scrabbling at the smooth sides, trying to find a handle, anything, so that I can pull it back, but there is nothing. I hear a bloodcurdling scream from the other side and then there is utter silence.

I vault over the truck, leaping down the other side and spinning on the spot, my eyes frantically searching to find them. “Oh God, no,” it comes out as a whisper. Henry is pulling Sofia out from under Aidan’s torso; he obviously covered her body with his own to try to protect her. She emerges, shaken but unhurt, and they both turn to Aidan, tugging at his arms futilely. The contents of the truck have burst out of a hole torn in the side, and the motor vehicle spares have spilled out, crushing Aidan’s legs just below his thighs. For a second I think he is unconscious, but then he lifts his head gingerly and meets my eye. I rush forward and start throwing the heavy items off him. Reed joins me and within a few minutes, his legs are freed. We roll him over and I fight the urge to be sick. Sofia cannot help herself and she hurls herself to the side just in time, heaving her guts out.

“Well, that doesn’t look good,” Aidan jokes, smiling up at us before his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out.

I watch as Reed rips Aidan’s pants from ankle to knee, exposing his injury so that Henry can assess the damage. It’s fairly obvious what the problem is. Aidan’s shin bone is protruding about half an inch out of the skin on his lower leg. Reed carefully takes hold of Aidan under his arms and I lift his feet, and together we carry him down the sidewalk towards the bus, sticking close to the buildings. We deposit him on the ground and Jethro comes running over with Henry’s medical bag. I am relieved to hear that the others are all safe, and I instruct Jethro and Reed to try to recover the vehicles. Now that the ground has settled, there is a possibility that with a bit of careful manoeuvring, we could drive them to a safer location.

My hands are shaking and covered in Aidan’s blood as I help Henry work. We raise his leg to slow the bleeding and I hold down clean towels on the wound site, applying pressure.

“Okay, we need to irrigate the area,” Henry says, pouring water over the exposed bone and injured section. “It’s not ideal, but at least with his ability we may not have to worry about infection. Will he heal as quickly as you?” he adds, pointing at my neck.

“No,” I shake my head, “not as fast, but it should still be fast enough that infection won’t set in.”

“We’ll give him antibiotics anyway, just in case,” he says. Next, Henry sets about removing all the dirt and foreign matter from the wound, including some flesh that he pronounces to be “non-viable tissue”. I avert my eyes, focusing on Aidan’s face instead.

“Okay, we need to set the bone,” he sounds hesitant.

“But?”

“Well, traditionally we would use plates and screws, or an intramedullary rod, but we have two problems.”

“No plates or rods,” I sigh, casting my mind around for something else we could use.

“Even if we did have, I’m not so sure we could use them,” he points out. “With his ability, his body might reject the foreign object.”

“Shit!”

“You can say that again.” He bends down and examines the open fracture. “Okay,” he seems to come to a decision. “We’re going to set it as best we can and wrap it tightly. It’s all we can do. Unless you think it might heal itself properly on its own?”

“No.” I shake my head. “We should set it.”

I almost black out when Henry sets the bone. The cracking sound cuts through me like a knife and to make matters worse, Aidan wakes up as Henry is manipulating the bone and lets out an ear-splitting screech. In desperation, I hit him precisely on the back of his neck and his body slumps back to the ground.

“Thank you,” Henry stammers gratefully. When he has finished bandaging the leg he sits back, wiping his brow. His face is grey with exhaustion and I am suddenly reminded that he is well beyond his prime.

“Get some rest, Henry,” I say gently, “we’ll make sure he gets settled for the night.” I meet Sofia’s eyes over his shoulder and she nods.

“Okay, I think I might just do that,” Henry concedes, getting wearily to his feet. “Give him the painkillers from the blue pill-box, they’re the strongest, and start him on these antibiotics,” he adds, thrusting a box in my hand. “We don’t have much choice but these should work well enough.”

The others have managed to get all the vehicles to stable ground and I allow Reed and Jethro to carry Aidan over to the Humvee, laying him down in the space between the rear seats. Loader is working on the truck, trying to seal the hole in the side and secure it. He has obviously been working all afternoon, but from what I can tell, it will be some time before either bus or truck are properly mobile again. They managed the short trip to firmer ground, but we certainly won’t be travelling very far in the state they are in. I suppose it gives us time to search for survivors, but secretly I doubt that we will find anyone here in San Francisco. The city is too desolate, too ransacked by the war just like Los Angeles. I don’t even want to stay in the city, it is too poignant a reminder of what we lost in LA. We have barely been here five minutes and already disaster has struck.

I help to make Aidan comfortable, rolling up a flat sheet and propping it under his head as an improvised pillow. I gaze down at him; his face is ashen and there are dark circles under his eyes. The piece of my heart that I have locked away is breaking, but I give none of this away through my facial expression. His blond hair is dark with sweat and his clothes are filthy. Looking down I realise we are all filthy. I hesitate for a moment and then I press the antibiotics into Sofia’s hand.

“Take care of him,” I smile at her, taking Reed’s hand and climbing out of the Humvee.

I go in search of running water, desperate to wash the blood, sweat and filth off my body. Eventually I hear the sound of water and follow it to a small stream. Stripping off my clothes I submerge myself, rubbing at my body with my hands until the grime is gone, and then I make my way back, curling up in the back of the truck and trying to will myself to sleep.

When I head for the Humvee in the morning, the cursing emanating from the inside is proof that Aidan is awake. I hoist myself up into the back and muster a smile.

“I guess I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling,” I say. Sofia is looking miserable, and she seizes upon my arrival as a reason to excuse herself. “I think your choice of language might be offending her sensitive nature,” I laugh and he rolls his eyes. “Henry, ever the refined English gentleman, has probably never cussed a day in his life,” I add. “When last did you have any painkillers?”

“Henry popped in and gave me some about ten minutes ago. With any luck, they’ll start to work sooner rather than later.” He clamps his hand over his shin suddenly, and then cringes as the pain gets even worse. “It hurts so bad,” he clenches his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his side. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”

“Yeah, well, having the ability to heal doesn’t do a damn thing to numb the pain, unfortunately,” I sympathise. He regards me steadily, a strange look passing over his features.

“You hurt like this?” he asks. “Every time I’ve seen you injured, you were in this kind of pain?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I answer, wondering where he is going with this, “but obviously it varies, depending on the extent of the injury. You’ve got a pretty serious one there,” I gesture at his bandaged leg.

“You had a chunk of flesh the size of your fist bitten out of your neck.”

“Okay, that was pretty bad.”

“You’re braver than I thought.” The unexpected compliment makes me feel uncomfortably shy and I quickly change the subject.

“You weren’t in pain when you got shot?” I ask.

“I don’t remember, I was unconscious most of the time,” he replies. “By the time I woke up, I was almost fully healed.” There is an awkward silence and I get abruptly to my feet, crouching low in the confines of the vehicle, the space suddenly seeming to shrink as we stare at each other.

“I’d better get going, we’re starting our search for supplies today.”

“Rebecca,” he stops me as I am about to climb out and I turn back. “Be careful,” is all he says.

Chapter 32

We spend almost a month in the gloomy, soul-destroying city, finding nothing but death and destruction. We navigate the area with caution, ever aware of the instability that may have been caused. What a waste of time, I keep thinking, wishing, unfairly I suppose, that Loader could work a little faster on the damaged vehicles. Tempers flare, and even Adam seems more surly than usual. The only ones unaffected by the depressing atmosphere are the children, Brooke and Oliver, who spend their days evading us and exploring, watched over protectively by Hope. They are particularly fascinated with the trams and spend hours playing inside them.

Aidan has healed fully a week after his crude surgery, much to Henry’s relief. Since he is a neurosurgeon, Henry’s knowledge of orthopaedics is limited and I think he was more stressed than he ever let on in case he had done something wrong. He is still insistent that Aidan is to rest the leg, so, much to Aidan’s chagrin, he is delegated to helping Sofia with preparing food and cleaning. Sofia is noticeably delighted.

I notice a subtle shift in the dynamics of our travelling band. Having spent over two months in each other’s company, our group is starting to integrate more, the lines between the Legion, the Ordinary and the Deranged are becoming less and less obvious. Unlikely friendships are forming and long-standing allegiances are tested. Archer seems to be transferring his loyalty from Adam to the Legion, and he now looks to me for instructions. Adam seems quite accepting of this and I am more than happy to have inherited the skilled archer. He lost all his arrows in San José and is painstakingly whittling a new set, aided by Oliver’s father and the other Deranged man who have been following him around.

Archer’s story is horrendous and makes me sick to my stomach. He is thirty-eight years old, by his estimate, since, as is the case with most of the Ordinary, he no longer remembers his exact birth date, which would have made him around ten years old when the holocaust occurred. His parents were already well equipped for a self-sufficient lifestyle; they were part of a group of people embracing ‘alternative living’ in Georgia. I bite my tongue to stop myself asking if they were nudists. Archer grew up in this informal settlement, being home-schooled by his ‘hippy’ mother, while his father commuted to a nearby town in search of temporary employment every few months when things got tight. As part and parcel of ‘living off the land’, Archer was taught at an early age to shoot a bow and, with little else to do, he practised obsessively, honing his natural talent. His father was away on one of his work-seeking trips when the bombs hit. Georgia was not targeted, but the nuclear winter that followed affected everyone, no matter where they were.

Fortunately, Archer’s mother managed to put aside her grief, and the heartbreak of losing her husband, and take care of herself and her son. By the time he was sixteen, Archer could feed what remained of their community on the strength of his bow. An expert marksman, whatever he aimed at, he brought down. He never missed, unsurprisingly, considering he was shooting for his survival. His skill kept him and his mother safe. A few men in the community had created their own dictatorship, calling themselves the ‘elders’. They seized control of all the subsistence farms and demanded ‘taxes’ in the form of food. If a family was unable to provide enough, they demanded sex from the women. Archer’s mother was spared because of the meat that Archer provided.

As he grew older Archer became more of a threat, but the leaders didn’t dare dispose of him for fear of losing their regular supply of food. Eventually, however, Archer started to fight back for those who couldn’t. By the time he was eighteen, he was no longer intimidated by those in power, and when he caught one of the ‘elders’ raping his thirteen-year-old neighbour, he shot an arrow through his heart. Dragging it through the settlement, he left the body at the door of the elders’ hall, sending his message loud and clear. Their reign of terror would no longer be tolerated.

The following day when he went out to hunt, four of the elders attacked his mother, ignoring their colleagues’ warnings. They raped her repeatedly, beat her to the brink of death and then left her naked and bleeding on the street. Archer hunted each one down and they were dead within an hour of his return. The council was disbanded and the community banished them from the area. Unfortunately, as grateful as they were to Archer, the community lived in fear of him. He had so calmly killed five men and, despite his gentle nature, they could not come to terms with that. Feeling ostracised, Archer left the village, but not before stockpiling enough meat so that the villagers could get through the following winter if they dried it properly.

His mother healed. He nursed her back to health. But he didn’t take her with him when he left.

“I didn’t know where I was heading or what I was going to encounter. It was the only life she had ever known,” he explains. “It wouldn’t have been fair on her to take her away.”

“Didn’t she want to go with you?” I ask, unable to believe she had just let him leave.

“I didn’t give her a choice,” he smiles, his eyes fixed on the fire. “That was twenty years ago; a lifetime ago.”

“Did you ever see her again?” I ask, wishing for a happy ending.

“A few years ago I went back. I had met up with Adam already and we travelled south in search of supplies. We ventured so close to where I had grown up that I made a small detour. She was there, but I couldn’t bring myself to approach her. I left without saying a word.” My face falls and then he gives me a dazzling grin. “Adam sensed how distraught I was, as he does. He coaxed the whole story out of me. The following morning he took me back and offered my mother a place in his community. She grabbed it with both hands. Gave me the dressing-down of my life too, for leaving her like that.”

“So, she’s back with the others?” I ask, delighted at the sudden twist in the morbid tale.

“Yeah,” he laughs, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “She headed up into the mountains with the rest back in Durango. With any luck, they’re safe in Las Vegas with your people now.”

Finally, the day dawns that Loader finishes his repairs and both the truck and the bus are ready, albeit that both are looking rather the worse for the wear.

“I think we should search the northern section of the city today,” Adam says one morning as he pores over an old map, oblivious to the downcast faces around him.

“No.” I stand up. I have made my decision. “We’re going home, Adam. We’ve done enough, we’re dangerously low on supplies and our people are exhausted. It’s time to go home.” He looks from me to the rest of the group. Jethro and Reed are already starting to pack up and Archer shoulders his bow, following their lead. After a brief pause, Aidan stands too and Sofia rises beside him, Henry a second later. The Deranged woman and two of the men are coughing, they seem to have picked up a virus and have been looking sickly for a few days.

“Dad,” Hope takes Adam’s elbow, “she’s right. We can come back, but the children need to be taken to a safe place. I don’t want them getting sick.” She eyes the sickly Deranged, a worried frown creasing her smooth forehead. I am surprised that Hope would agree with me, but I’ll take whatever support I can get. Adam smiles fondly at her for a moment and then, with a resigned sigh, he nods.

“You’re right, Rebecca. It was foolish to think we would find anything here, but I had to try.” There is a note of pleading in his voice and I realise that he is offering an apology.

“I’m glad that we did,” I concede, “and we saved nine people in the process. My Legion will continue to help you in whatever way we can. What you do is honourable, Adam. I respect it, and I’ve come to believe in it. But for now,” I emphasise, “for now, all we need to focus on is getting home.” As I say the word I sway slightly on the spot, I am feeling light-headed. Aidan catches my arm looking concerned.

“Are you okay?” His face swims in front of me and I blink a few times. Slowly, my vision returns.

“I’m fine,” I say, looking briefly at the three sickly Deranged. “Absolutely fine,” I repeat.

“I saw that,” Henry announces, rounding the corner into the alleyway where I’m hiding. I’m sitting with my back against the brick wall of an old department store, avoiding the others. Nobody seems to have noticed that I’m gone, nobody but Henry, that is.

“I just needed a minute,” I insist rising to my feet.

“Sit down,” Henry barks, and I sit. He is holding his trusty satchel and I sigh in exasperation.

“I’m not sick, Henry.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says briskly, digging around in his bag and pulling out a blood pressure monitor.

“I’m worried about the others too,” Henry says as he wraps the cuff around my arm. “They seem to have picked up some sort of infection, but I suspect it’s viral, not bacterial. I’m hesitant to use up the antibiotics if they aren’t going to be effective.”

“Do you think they’ll get better?” I ask, for the first time feeling genuinely concerned. Henry has me worried, too.

“I hope so. I think your decision to go home is the best thing for them. At least once we’re back in civilisation, so to speak, with access to running water and fresh food, they’ll have a better chance of getting strong enough to fight the infection.”

While we are talking he listens to my heartbeat, checks my temperature and peers down my throat and into my ears. Eventually he sits back on his haunches.

“You don’t have a fever and everything else seems normal,” he ponders aloud. “The others are running chronically high temperatures. I guess I was wrong.”

“I told you, Henry. I don’t get sick, not since I had the healing procedure. My body automatically fights off disease before it has a chance to develop.”

“Okay,” he says. “Well, let me know if you have any new symptoms, or if you feel off.”

“Off?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Yes, off,” he retorts, “sick, unwell, strange. Off!”

“Okay, Henry,” I smile, “I’ll let you know if I feel ‘off’.”

We head back along the same route. I am not inclined to cover any new ground which could energise Adam to search for survivors. We drive straight through San José and keep driving south. Travelling through Bakersfield I keep my eye out for any members of the small community but we see no one. As we pass Jim’s tumbledown house, Reed starts chuckling. I also start to laugh and find that I can’t stop. The atmosphere is positively jovial, we are all happy to be going home and I am alive with the anticipation of seeing Alex again. We keep going until we reach a tiny town called Caliente where we spend the night. My mood darkens somewhat when I wake in the night, my forehead clammy. For the first time in a long time, I feel sick; really sick. I think back to the squalor of San Francisco and shiver involuntarily. Who knows what we might have picked up there?

We are only 250 miles from home and we plan to start the final journey early the following morning. I begin to go over in my head what I am going to say to Alex, rehearsing the words to try to explain Aidan’s resurrection.

“You’re overthinking it.” Reed sits down beside me in the early hours of the morning. I have barely slept. “He’s going to be pumped. It’s not like you’re delivering bad news. Besides, he knows about healing, he’ll get it.” I smile at him and rest my head on his shoulder.

“You should be sleeping,” I murmur.

“I can’t,” he admits. “I’m excited about getting home.”

It has been three months since we left on our mission to blow up the NUSA lab. So much has happened since then that I can barely get my head around it. Finding Adam and his people. Finding Aidan and all that that implies. Numerous towns and cities, the different lives that we’ve saved. It has been one hell of a journey!

“I need to use the little ladies’ room.” I crawl out of the truck and stretch my legs. In the faint light of the approaching dawn, I see Henry rushing across the camp towards the bus.

“Henry!” I call, my voice barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t hear me. I jog across to him, reaching him just before he arrives at the bus.

“What is it?” I ask, glancing at the satchel slung over his arm.

“It’s the woman,” he mutters, sounding preoccupied. “She deteriorated during the night.” I follow him aboard the bus and I am surprised to see that all the occupants are awake, except for the children, who are sleeping on the very front seats.

We head for a row of seats towards the back and Henry crouches over the woman. Even in the dim light she looks terrible. Her face is shining with perspiration but her lips are chapped and dry. Her eyes are dull and lacklustre, another sign of infection, and when I put my hand to her forehead her skin is blazing hot to the touch.

“I’m giving her the antibiotic,” Henry whispers. “It’s a long shot, but I have to try.” He fumbles in his bag. “Sofia, dampen a towel and put it behind her neck. Rebecca, get her jumper off – she’s burning up and we need to get this fever down quickly or she could have permanent brain damage.” The woman is shivering uncontrollably and I fight the natural urge to cover her little body with a blanket. Henry manages to get her to swallow the antibiotic and we all hold our breath as she gags. Thankfully, she settles down and Henry coaxes her to take some ibuprofen.

“I wish they’d woken me sooner,” he says, as we wait for the medicine to take effect.

“She’ll be okay,” Sofia soothes, taking his hand.

I stare down at the sickly woman, a cold feeling growing in my chest. Is this what I’m in for? I think about how awful I felt last night and, even as I remember, I start to feel shaky. As the sun rises the others awake and start to go about their usual morning routine. Eventually I get to my feet. The Deranged woman is sleeping and her colour has improved.

“Henry, could I speak to you, please? In private,” I add in an undertone. He follows me immediately, gesturing for Sofia to stay with the patient.

As I step down on to the ladder, Aidan steps up on to it. I gaze down at him, moving slightly to the left as he steps right. We both mutter an apology and step in the opposite direction, colliding again. He smiles up at me and I catch my breath. In this unguarded moment, I remember the kiss in the alley and, from the look on his face, I think he remembers it too. Henry coughs awkwardly behind me and I shake my head, coming back to the present.

“Ladies first,” Aidan steps aside and sweeps out his arm. I make my way down the steps, Henry right behind me.

“Tiny,” Reed steps out from the front of the bus and I start. I didn’t even know he was awake. I glance back at the steps but Aidan is gone, thank goodness. Ignoring Henry completely, Reed looks down at me.

“I’m leaving,” he says, so suddenly that it takes me a moment to register his words.

“What? Where are you going?” I am half smiling, sure there is a reasonable explanation.

“I can’t do this,” he opens his arms wide and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I can’t watch you torture yourself, torture me. Not any more. You need to sort your head out, and I need to get as far away from you as possible.”

“But . . . I thought; I mean aren’t we good? I thought we were good? I’ve put an end to all that. I want to be with you.” I barely notice Henry walking away, giving us our privacy.

“Do you?” Reed sounds dubious. “Do you really? You might have convinced yourself but you can’t fool me, Tiny. You’re doing what you think is right, which is not necessarily what you want.”

“I love you,” I insist, completely honestly.

“Yeah,” he nods his head. “I know you do. But I’ve seen the way you look at him. I can’t watch that. I’ll go bat-shit crazy.”

“Please don’t leave,” I beg. “We’re so close to home, we can sort this out when we get back.”

“I’m not going home,” he interrupts, sounding cold.

“What?” That doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m not going home,” he repeats firmly. “I’m gonna head down to Georgia, I want to check on Cathy and Norman. I haven’t seen them in a while.” It’s a lame excuse and he knows it.

“When will you be back?” I can’t even believe I am asking; this whole situation is absurd.

“I don’t know,” he replies ominously. I want to beg him to stay, to grab hold of him and stop him from leaving me. “I’ll need a car,” he adds. “We’re close enough to home that you should be all right getting back with one less vehicle.” This triggers something in my head; it’s like he planned it. Planned it so that we could get home without the car that he intended to take.

“How long have you been planning on leaving?” I ask, accusingly.

“How long have you been torn between the two of us?” he counters.

“You said you would fight for me,” I remind him, “even if you had to fight dirty.”

“You have to believe there’s something to fight for. I’m almost packed.” He lowers his eyes. “I’ll come and say goodbye before I leave.”

I turn away before he can see the tears. I will not let him see me cry. I walk until I am out of sight and then I collapse on the ground, hugging myself tightly and trying not to break down. What will I do without him? He is the one person I trust more than anyone, the one person I can rely on. He is always there, saving me, saving the day. I have never felt so alone.

“Rebecca,” Henry interrupts timidly and I sniff loudly, lifting my face to meet his kind eyes. “I’m sorry to intrude, but you wanted to speak to me?” Concern is written all over his face.

“Yes,” I wipe frantically at my face and pull myself together. “You said I should tell you if I felt ‘off’?” I remind him and he nods. “Well, I’m feeling off. And after what I saw in the bus this morning, I need to know that I’m not going to get sick. Particularly now . . .” I don’t want to finish the sentence. Particularly now that I am the only soldier with the Power of Three we have left.

It takes Henry about fifteen minutes to complete his check-up. When he is done he meticulously packs away all his instruments, his face a blank mask, giving nothing away.

“What it is?” I ask, feeling anxious. “Should I take the antibiotics?”

“No,” Henry answers, zipping up the bag and kneeling in front of me. “You don’t need it.”

“Is it viral?” I ask, and he smiles, shaking his head.

“No, it’s not viral,” his voice is soft and I feel an irrational surge of irritation that he is being so cryptic.

“Spit it out, Henry,” I snap, my voice losing all traces of apprehension.

“You’re not sick, Rebecca,” he smiles fondly. “You’re pregnant.”

Chapter 33

My first instinct is to laugh.

“Henry, I hope you were a better neurosurgeon than you are a GP,” I chuckle. He doesn’t answer. “I can’t be pregnant,” I explain patiently. “I’ve been sterilised.”

At this, his eyes widen in shock, “But . . .”

“So you see, you must be mistaken.”

“I’m not, I’m sure of it.” I can see he is mentally exploring all the other options.

“It’s not possible,” I continue, feeling deflated. We are back to square one. We still have no idea what is wrong with me.

“How were you sterilised?” he asks suddenly.

“Tubal ligation,” I answer automatically.

“Bipolar coagulation or fimbriectomy?” he asks and I roll my eyes, how does he expect me to understand that?

“The fallopian tube,” he explains in layman’s terms, “did they cauterise a section of it, or did they remove a portion altogether? In some cases, cauterisation isn’t a hundred per cent successful, there’s still a small chance . . .”

“They removed the tube,” I interrupt, silencing him. Removal of the tube closest to the ovary is entirely effective and completely irreversible, it eliminates the ovary’s ability to capture eggs and transfer them to the uterus. Henry looks perplexed.

“I could have sworn . . . All the signs are there,” he insists.

“Well, that’s not it,” I repeat. We both fall silent. My thoughts stray again to Reed and the fact that he is leaving.

“When was your last menstruation?” The question comes out of the blue. “You still menstruate, right?”

“Yes,” I answer, flushing to be having this discussion with him.

“So when was the last time?”

The question throws me. Now that I think about it, not since we left Vegas. I am fairly regular and I should have had at least two periods by now.

“It’s not possible,” I repeat, with far less certainty. Henry smiles.

“I think you’re pregnant, Rebecca.” He considers this for a while and then, “It’s the healing!”

“What?”

“Your body heals itself, it must have healed the damaged portion of your fallopian tubes. It’s actually not that big a stretch, considering the other injuries you have recovered from.”

“But I had it done years ago!” I insist. “And I was married! Surely if my body had healed I would have . . .” I trail off, comprehension dawning. “Oh God!” Eric had been sterilised too. And he couldn’t heal. He could never get me pregnant even if there was nothing wrong with me. Even if I was fertile. But Reed . . . Reed was more than capable of getting me pregnant if my sterilisation has been reversed.

“Oh God!” I repeat, suddenly feeling violently ill. My body feels unfamiliar and my head is spinning. I put it down between my legs trying to think rationally. I know that he’s right. It explains so much. The past few weeks I have been far more emotional than usual. It started as early as Los Angeles. I had wondered why Tim’s death had affected me so badly. I adored him, but I had lost people much closer to me before and had coped far better. In the tunnels Marcus had died because of my own foolish actions and I hadn’t taken it half as badly. My erratic behaviour, the tearfulness, the oversensitivity, my inability to make decisions. It all makes sense.

“You’re sure?” I ask eventually, gazing up at Henry.

“I’m positive. You have all the signs; the nausea, dizziness, fatigue. Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. More importantly, you’ve missed your period.” I think I’m going into shock, and I start to shiver. “When was your last menstrual cycle?”

“Shortly before I left Vegas. About three months ago.”

“And any idea as to conception?” he asks awkwardly.

“About two and a half months ago,” I answer in a monotone, remembering that first time in Toledo after we blew up the lab. When I realised that Reed was alive and how much he meant to me.

“Mid-cycle,” he nods wisely, “your most fertile time of month, incidentally. Well, I’d say this calls for a celebra . . .”

“No!” I cut him short and get to my feet. “No, Henry. No one can know, do you understand me? No one.”

“But,” he frowns in consternation, “why on earth would you want to keep this a secret?”

“Henry, no disrespect, but you lived on that ship for twenty-eight years. You have no idea what’s been going on. This little ‘search and rescue’ mission may seem exciting, but there’s a real war going on out there. People are dying. I have an army to lead. You may not understand,” I press as he seems about to argue, “but you will do as I say. No one can know.” Finally, he nods, but I can see the reproach in his eyes. “I need your word.” He sighs, shaking his greying head. “Your word, Henry!”

“All right,” he relents. “You have my word. I won’t tell a soul, your secret is safe.”

As we approach the now packed and ready vehicles Reed slams the trunk of the Discovery shut and turns to face me.

“You’re taking my car,” I narrow my eyes at him.

“I’ll look after it,” he promises. We stand facing each other, my chest tightening in desperation. I don’t want him to leave. The thought alone makes me want to throw myself on the ground, curl into a ball and never get up again. I know I can stop him all too easily. Reed would never leave my side if he knew I was carrying his child. But how can I be that selfish? I can see the pain etched on his face, it’s not fair to him. I am not over Aidan; I may never be. It’s torturing him; this brave, wonderful man who has only ever wanted the best for me. I have to be selfless and let him go and pray that he finds his way back to me when the time is right.

“You take care of yourself,” I murmur, my voice breaking. He pulls me into his arms, squeezing me so tightly that I can hardly breathe and I hold on to him desperately. Eventually he drops a kiss on my hair and releases me so quickly that I stumble back a few steps. Jumping into the Discovery he starts the engine and does a U-turn, then he drives away without looking back.

I have sobbed myself into oblivion, trying to convince myself that I am being overemotional, that my hormones are wreaking havoc, but deep down I know that this has nothing to do with how I am feeling. Reed is gone and I am alone. I can hear the others calling for me and I drag myself into a sitting position, wiping my face with my sleeves. It is Jethro who tracks me down, a brief look of relief crossing his face before he registers the state that I’m in.

Retreating slightly he hollers back at Archer that we’ll be there in a minute and everyone should load up. Then he walks slowly forward and drops down onto the soft grass beside me.

“He’ll be back, you know.” He puts his arm around my shoulders pulling me against him.

“I know,” I nod. I have to believe he’ll come back.

“With any luck we’ll be home for dinner,” he tries to cheer me up. “You’ll see Alex.”

“And you’ll see Veronica,” I smile weakly up at him. He can’t hide the goofy smile that stretches across his face.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” he grins.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t get to say goodbye.” Everything in Durango had happened so fast. Jethro had followed my instructions without question and he had not even had a chance to say goodbye to Veronica.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s the life we live.”

I realise that I barely know anything about Jethro. He is a few years younger than I am, olive-skinned and dark, but he is not prone to prattle and generally keeps to himself.

“Where did you get your ability?” I ask. Jethro’s Gift is speed, but he has trained extensively with Kwan and can hold his own in battle, regardless of what he comes up against.

“Eric Dane,” he answers and I blink in confusion. That doesn’t make any sense. Jethro was one of the two hundred people on Eric’s list and he was extricated from the States by the Resistance during our search for these Gifted people. Why would Eric be searching for someone he had Gifted himself?

Jethro’s answer is not what I expect.

“My twin brother Mason and I were conscripted into the Dane army when we were twenty-two. I was to be given the ability of speed, while he was given strength. He was excited, proud to be serving his country. I really only volunteered because he did, he was always the stronger and I idolised him. Ironically, I survived my procedure but he didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happens. He knew the risk. My resentment towards Eric grew. He had taken my brother from me and it didn’t take long before I became disillusioned with Dane rule. I didn’t agree with many of his laws and eventually I decided to get out. I couldn’t cross the fences. I believed the propaganda and feared the barren lands, so I fled to North Dakota. I changed my name, started making a life for myself and tried to forget the horrors of those few months. Everything was working out well. I spent six months living under the radar, or so I thought. I must have made a mistake if I ended up on Eric’s Gifted list. Joining the Legion was the best decision I’ve ever made. At least out here I don’t have to hide who I am.”

“Who got you out?” I ask. When we were searching for the Gifted on Eric’s list we split into teams but I had never been near North Dakota.

“Kwan and Morgan,” he answers. “They saved my life.”

“I’m glad they found you, Jethro. What was your real name, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “He died along with Mason, almost two years ago.”

As we reach the others I try wearily to figure out which car I should travel in. I miss my beloved Discovery already and the modicum of privacy and independence it gave me. Seeing my reddened, puffy eyes and no doubt blotchy face, Aidan takes a step forward, but then seems to think better of it. His hand is linked with Sofia’s, but surprisingly, I am so consumed with Reed’s departure that it hardly bothers me. I ride with Jethro and Archer in the Humvee, stretching out in the back and letting the rocking motion of the big car lull me to sleep.

“Rebecca,” Archer shakes me gently, “we’re almost there.” I open my eyes and see the excitement shining in his. I sit up quickly and move forward, taking the passenger seat. We are almost home, about to reach the entrance to the mountain corridor.

“Different cars,” I murmur and Jethro cocks his head towards me.

“What?”

“Different cars,” I repeat. “They won’t know who we are. This is a NUSA Humvee.” I raise my eyebrows and he registers my point.

“Ah, that’s not going to get us the most welcome homecoming.” He stops the car and both the truck and the bus creak to a halt behind us.

I jump down into the soft sand and break into an easy jog, keeping my face tilted up and visible to the scouts. As I pass through the corridor, I see the flash of light on the ridge, one, two, three. All clear. I turn back, waving to the others to proceed and as the Humvee draws alongside me, I climb onto the side rail, watching our home come into view.

My father is one of the first to reach us.

“Bex!” His delight is obvious and he lifts me up and spins me around before setting me back on my feet.

“Dad,” I smile up at him and then I hug him again. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“You were gone a long time,” he reproaches and I remember my concerns.

“Did everyone make it back safely?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “It was an interesting trip, but we’re all here safe and sound. Chase is in the holding cells and Adam’s people have been put up in a temporary hostel until we can make arrangements for their accommodation.

“David and Morgan?”

“They’re here too; they arrived with three of Adam’s men. Everyone is fine.”

“Thank God,” I heave a sigh of relief.

“I assume by your travelling style that you found more survivors,” he stares at the bus, clearly amused.

“Yeah, a couple more,” I laugh, and start making introductions. Soon enough I leave Adam and my father to sort out the newcomers and I go in search of Alex. I try the school but it has already closed so I head over to Jenna’s.

“Becca girl!” she screeches as she opens the door, engulfing me in a bear hug. “You’re back!” she wrinkles her snub nose, grinning in excitement and hollers down the passage, “Alex!” I step into the house and the next moment I am practically flat on my back as Alex streaks into my arms.

“Mom!” he shrieks happily, and I ruffle his hair, pulling him against me tightly and breathing in the sweet smell of him. For a few minutes we snuggle together and I forget everything else. Aidan and Reed, the Ordinary, the Deranged, the whole sordid mess outside fades to grey as I just enjoy this moment with my son.

“Did you blow up the lab-rat-torry?” he asks eventually, his little face dancing with excitement.

“How do you know about that?” I ask, rounding on Jenna.

“Oh please,” she waves her hand airily at me, “there’s no keeping anything from this child, he’s far too bright.”

“I brought you something,” I tell Alex, trying to distract him.

“What?” he whispers conspiratorially. I grab the packet I dropped when he launched himself at me and I pull it onto my lap. Alex sits on my leg, bouncing impatiently.

When I pull out the toys he jumps up and down on the spot, unable to contain himself.

“Can I play with them now, Mommy?” he asks. “Can I, can I?”

“You can, boy,” I laugh, as I get up and move to the couch. I flop back and rub my eyes, stifling a yawn.

“Why don’t you have a shower, Becca,” Jenna wrinkles her perfect nose. “I have soap and everything.” I throw a cushion at her and kiss the top of Alex’s head as I pass, making my way to the bathroom.

Jenna fetches some clothes from my place and half an hour later I am cleaner than I’ve been in three months, wearing a long-sleeved pale blue V-necked shirt and a soft, well-worn pair of denims. Combing out my damp hair, I join Jenna in the kitchen as she makes coffee.

“So, what happened?” she asks, pouring the hot water. “You sure sent a lot of people back here.”

“We brought a couple more home with us too,” I say, putting the comb down and taking the proffered mug. “Aidan’s here,” I add, not knowing how else to broach the subject. The spoon clatters to the floor.

“What?”

“He’s alive.” I raise my left hand to pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the headache that is building.

“Where is he?” she whispers, mindful of Alex in the next room.

“He’s here.” I sigh. “I’m going to take Alex home and take Aidan there.” For once Jenna knows when to keep quiet. She just nods in agreement, sympathy shining in her blue eyes.

Alex’s reaction to Aidan’s miraculous appearance is heart-wrenchingly entertaining. I spend an hour preparing him beforehand. I explain about Aidan’s ability to heal which he takes in his stride, only asking if he was strong and fast, too. He looks quite smug on hearing that Aidan has only one ability, unlike the two of us, and I hide my smile. He throws his arms around his father the minute he steps through the door and then leads him by the hand to the couch, a sombre expression on his little face.

“I’m sorry your head got broken,” he whispers, rubbing Aidan’s hair with a grubby hand. “I’m Alex,” he speaks slowly and clearly, as though Aidan is a mental patient, and I feel tears of mirth spring in my eyes. Everything is going to be okay.

Eventually Aidan leaves, promising Alex he will be back the next day. Our new guests have all been fed and bathed and accommodation has been prepared for them. I am too tired to check on anybody, so I curl up beside Alex and sleep until dawn.

Chapter 34

I call a meeting in the Gold Room just before lunch the following day. All the council members attend and I greet Kwan and Michael warmly. I have invited Jethro and Archer to join us, as well as Adam, who is representing the Ordinary. Hope stalks in behind him, taking a seat next to Morgan. Jethro and Veronica exchange a secret smile as she hands him his coffee, and I am happy to see them reconnecting. After an initial catch-up and introductions, we get started.

The General has successfully created forty new soldiers to add to our existing two hundred. NUSA have about four thousand Gifted. Not great odds, but every man counts. Sadly, six men lost their lives undergoing the procedures and the guilt weighs heavily on me.

“Some of my men would like to volunteer as well,” Adam offers, but I can tell by the look on his face that he is not happy about it.

“We’ll screen them as soon as possible,” the General nods in acknowledgement, glancing at Veronica, who is scribbling furiously, to check that she is making a note of Adam’s offer.

I recount the details of the successful detonation at the lab although David has already given them all the information he can.

“General, we have a problem,” I say eventually. “There is a NUSA convoy roaming around the Rebeldom. We lost them leaving Durango, but a small group broke off and followed us to Flagstaff. We took care of them and we haven’t seen the convoy since.”

“How big?” his gravelly voice is lower than usual.

“Big,” I answer. “At least a hundred and fifty soldiers, maybe more.” The General lets out a low whistle.

“Flagstaff is more than 250 miles from here,” he rationalises. “We should be safe.”

“We headed straight for Kingman from Flagstaff,” Archer points out. “They may well have tracked us.”

“Kingman is only 100 miles away,” Kwan voices what we are all thinking.

“Okay, I’ll tell the scouts to extend the perimeter and keep their eyes open.” The General’s gaze falls on me again and he hesitates, as though it almost pains him to ask the next question.

“What now, Miss Davis? What’s our next move?”

“We need to reduce their numbers,” I answer, forcing a confidence I don’t really feel. Reed’s absence is ever-present, like a blind spot in my vision. Planning without him is so much harder.

“In taking out the lab, we’ve cut off their legs – they cannot create any new soldiers. That means that their numbers are finite; four thousand soldiers, that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Morgan snorts. “We’re outnumbered twenty to one!”

“I know that, Morgan,” I snap, “let me finish. Yes, we’re outnumbered, but NUSA can’t be everywhere at once. We need to focus our efforts, take them out in small clusters.” I take a deep breath. “We need to start studying the fences, finding the weaker points. If we attack sections, quickly and without warning, we can eliminate the soldiers patrolling those sections. Ten, maybe fifteen men at a time.”

“That is not the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” the General remarks generously. It’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get. “Okay, I take it you will make the necessary arrangements?” he asks and I nod, my heart heavy in my chest. I do not have the energy or the inclination to even get up off this chair, and I have only just got back to Alex. Unfortunately, duty calls, so I keep Kwan, Morgan, Archer, Jethro and David back after the meeting adjourns and we start brainstorming.

“I’m coming with you on these raids,” Kwan says firmly, referring to his having to stay behind on our last mission to the lab. “They won’t be long and we’ll be taking a great number of men with us, I presume?”

“The more men we take, the higher the success rate,” I agree, “and the less chance of any of our own getting hurt.”

“How many?” David asks.

“I’d say thirty or so, so long as we have the upper hand.”

“What if they call for reinforcements?” Morgan poses the question.

“We’ll be gone long before they arrive,” I explain. “The aim is not to take out every guard we see. We identify a group, we get in, take them out and retreat. Small victories. Hanging around indefinitely as they call for others will get us killed. We’re aiming for small, focused attacks, then we run like hell.”

“At that rate, you’re looking at up to four hundred raids,” Archer points out.

“Not as many as that,” I reply. “Not all of NUSA’s soldiers patrol the fences; there are plenty in the States that we will need to concern ourselves with. We’ll deal with that later, but for now our focus is on bringing down the numbers.”

I stop in to visit Brooke on my way home and am surprised to find my father there.

“Dad?” I smile, as I enter the temporary hostel where we have set up our guests. They will slowly be integrated into the community and given their own space but with such a massive influx this is not going to happen overnight. The Ordinary alone number more than two hundred people, not including those who we saved in California. “What brings you here?” I ask, sitting down beside him. Brooke and Oliver are being read a story by Elizabeth, who has volunteered to slowly introduce them to our school system.

“Her,” my dad gestures at Brooke, who is smiling at Elizabeth’s antics.

“Her ability,” I say. “What do you think? Do you think she could have had the procedure out here in the Rebeldom? She doesn’t recall crossing any fences, but maybe she was too young to remember.”

“She didn’t have her procedure out here,” he declares.

“So, in the States then?” I had suspected as much.

“No, Bex,” he shakes his head. “I examined her. She didn’t have a procedure at all.”

“That’s impossible,” I deny. “She healed, Dad, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“She has the ability,” he agrees, “but she was born with it.”

I turn to stare at the little girl, my eyes widening.

“Are you sure?” I ask, wondering what this could possibly mean.

“I’m certain.”

“What does it mean?”

“I have no idea.”

I set off for Kwan’s dojo, my mind seething with a myriad questions. Thankfully we are training alone which gives me time to think and time to reconnect with my old friend.

“Jethro told me about Reed’s leaving,” he mentions after we have warmed up. I don’t answer.

“I assume it had something to do with Aidan’s reappearance?” he prompts and I sigh.

“I didn’t want him to go, but I couldn’t stop him either.”

“He’s a proud man,” Kwan justifies.

“Tell me about it.” I lift a Bo staff from the top shelf, raising my brow at Kwan. He nods and I throw one over to him. Whenever we practise with the Bo staffs I am always reminded of the day Kwan first discovered that I was Gifted. He has been a mentor and close friend, and is one of the few people I am comfortable talking to about my private life.

“What are you going to do?” He carries on our conversation as we whirl and strike, the Bo staffs blurring with the speed of our movements.

“I have no idea,” I answer truthfully.

“I don’t envy your situation,” he sympathises, spinning and bringing the Bo soaring around, stopping only an inch from my lower back. “You’re distracted,” he scolds. Kwan takes his training very seriously and I force myself to focus.

Later, drinking a bottle of water and sitting cross-legged on the clean wooden floor, I bring up the question that I have long been wanting to ask.

“Where did you get your procedure done, Kwan?”

He smiles secretively. “I’m sorry, Rebecca, but I can’t tell you that.”

Frustration wells up inside me, but I know my mentor, he will not be coaxed or coerced. Kwan does not play games and if he says he cannot tell me, then no amount of pleading will get him to change his mind. Heaving a sigh of acceptance, I bring up Morgan.

“She’s so angry with me.”

“She’s not dealing with the loss of Rellis,” Kwan explains, but he doesn’t contradict me. “She has to blame someone.”

“And you?” I ask, turning to face him. “Do you blame me? For Nina?” I probe, and he lowers his eyes.

“I did,” he admits, wiping a few drops of water from the floor, “but not any more. Nina made her choice and she chose wrong. You did what you had to do, I understand that. But I’m much older and much wiser than Morgan,” he smiles, lightening the mood. “You can’t expect such wisdom from her.” He throws me my towel. “You’ll make the right decision, Rebecca, when you’re ready.”

A few days go by and our planning is in full swing. We will depart on our first raid in about a month’s time once the scouts have returned. We have sent a few teams out to identify the weaker points along the boundary fences, and the areas where guards are minimal.

Adam approaches me alone one morning with his list of volunteers for the Gifting procedures. It consists of thirty men, and one woman.

“Hope?” I ask, shocked, my forehead creasing in a disbelieving frown. “You’re going to let Hope volunteer?” The thought of the fearless but foolish girl getting herself killed in the process horrifies me. Adam looks pained but resolute.

“She wants to go through with it. Her mind is made up.”

“Well, just tell her no!” My voice is riddled with condescension.

“I can’t do that. She, like everyone else in my family, has a choice.”

“Well, in my family things work a little differently,” I retort. “Minors don’t get to make their own decisions. Hope is sixteen; she’s underage, it’s not happening!” I thrust the list back into his hands angrily and almost miss the small smile that crosses his face.

“Thank you,” he murmurs gratefully, and I shake my head as he walks away.

Ten minutes later Hope confronts me as I make my way back to the hostel. I have about an hour before I have to fetch Alex from school and I am trying my hardest to avoid my dad. I know he’s got something up his sleeve.

“You can’t stop me!” Hope yells angrily, her face just inches from my own. “You’re not my mother!”

“No, young lady, I’m not. And the very fact that you resort to that line just shows how immature you actually are. No one under eighteen may volunteer. Those are the rules. If you don’t like them, well, tough shit.”

“Michael got his ability when he was sixteen!” she whines, dragging a reluctant Michael out of the small crowd that has gathered around us.

“Not on my watch, he didn’t,” I answer lightly.

“She won’t change her mind,” Morgan drawls from the sidelines, her eyes fixed on me, a mixture of resentment and respect. “You may as well give it up,” she adds, turning to Hope.

“It’s not fair! You can’t do this!” Hope repeats, and I walk away, leaving her to fume and praying that the baby I am carrying is not going to be a girl if Morgan and Hope are any indication of what I have to look forward to.

I reach the hostel and quickly find Henry, who is monitoring the three Deranged who fell ill in San Francisco. All three have made steady progress and are almost fully recovered. The woman, in particular, had me most concerned, but she’s going to be fine.

“I have a surprise for you,” I announce and Henry’s kind face looks up at me. “Come with me. You too,” I nod at Sofia, who is hanging back, hesitantly.

I walk them only about half a mile and then I turn to the left, opening my arms in front of me.

“Ta-dah!” I laugh, watching the understanding dawning on their faces. The small brick house is modest and unassuming, but it’s clean and it’s theirs. More importantly, it has a bigger garden than most of the houses in the area. “The soil is good,” I point to the flat front lawn and Henry brings his hand to his mouth, trying to curb his emotion. “Your seeds should do very well here,” I add warmly, and he takes both my hands in his own and squeezes them tightly. I open the front door and usher them in but I don’t stay. They need to be alone to settle in and I make my way back to the school.

I am surprised to see Aidan waiting at the front entrance, scuffing his sneakers on the old tiles.

“Hi,” I eye him curiously.

“I’m sorry, I should have checked with you first,” he apologises. “I just, well, I wanted to spend some time with him.”

“Ah,” I smile knowingly. “He’s got to you already, hasn’t he?” Aidan laughs.

“Yeah, he has. Anyway, I just wanted to see if he wanted to play some ball, or go for a walk. If that’s okay with you?”

“No problem at all.”

“Is it his birthday?” Aidan asks suddenly, a puzzled expression on his face.

“No, why?”

“It’s the fifteenth, right?” his eyes narrow.

“Yes.”

“I just have this weird feeling, you know, that today is kind of important.”

“Oh.” I fight the urge to put him out of his misery. “Well, it’s not. Sorry. I’ll see you guys later.” I smile and head back into town, to Jenna’s.

“Where is he?” I demand, as I scan the street and shut the door behind me.

“Where’s who?” she asks innocently, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“My dad, Jen,” I warn and she rolls her eyes. “I know you guys are up to something.”

“Becca,” she whines, flopping down onto the couch and curling her legs beneath her. “It’s your birthday. You don’t turn twenty-seven every day, you know. You can’t hide, certainly not from those lines,” she adds, scrutinising my face. “So embrace it!”

“What’s the plan?” I put on my most intimidating soldier face. She ignores me.

“I’m not telling. Now shoo! I have to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?” I snap, but she just pushes me towards the door, smiling secretively.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” my dad beams, as he comes through the Gold Room doors. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me,” he winks and crosses the room to stand beside the boardroom table. He drops a kiss on the top of my head. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I smile, knowing the game is up.

“You’d better go and get ready,” he instructs. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I really don’t feel up to a party,” I grumble, but it is pointless arguing.

“The Supper Theatre,” he says. “Don’t be late.”

When I get home Aidan is there with Alex.

“You could have told me,” he chides. “Turns out I was right about today being something important.”

“Yeah, but it was fun watching you suffer,” I laugh. “Are you coming to the party?”

“Nah, I’m babysitting,” he nods at Alex, who is sitting at the table drawing.

“Can I come to the party?” he pleads, as I go to kiss him hello.

“Grown-ups only,” I sigh. Spending the night with Alex is far more appealing than a birthday bash but I know if I don’t go they’ll just come and get me.

“I won’t be late,” I tell Aidan as I leave. He is quieter than usual, but I did notice the appreciative glance when I emerged from my room. Knowing Jenna will never let me live it down if I don’t, I have dressed appropriately, in the same little black dress that I wore to Michael’s party. My hair is clean and is, for once, not pulled back into a ponytail but falling in a curtain of sleek, shiny, good health down my back. Figuring that maybe if I feel better on the outside, I might feel better on the inside, I have added a touch of lip gloss and some eye make-up. A liberal application of mascara makes my eyes look luminous in my face, more silver than grey.

“No rush,” Aidan answers, smiling sincerely down at me. “Have fun.”

The hall looks almost exactly as it did for Michael’s party but there are far fewer guests. The obvious absentee is Reed, who I am missing more than I could have imagined. I circulate a bit, greeting everyone who has taken the trouble to come and celebrate. I feel like Rebecca Dane again, putting on a front for the public. I smile and say all the right things, but I just want to be at home with my son.

“Here,” Jenna hands me a glass of punch.

“Seriously, Jen, not again.” I hand it back to her but she wags her finger at me and refuses to take it back. I can’t drink, I’m pregnant, but, knowing the questions it will raise, I lift the glass to my mouth and pretend to take a sip. I raise my glass in a toast to Jenna, and then I wander off to dance, discreetly emptying my glass back into one of the punch bowls.

Just after 10 pm I feel I can safely leave without being judged too harshly. I slip out one of the back doors when no one is looking and I take a few deep breaths of the cool night air, clearing my head. When I get home Aidan is reading one of Alex’s bedtime story books, but Alex is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s sleeping,” Aidan explains, getting to his feet and stretching as he tosses the book back onto the couch.

“Bob the Builder saves the Day?” I raise my eyebrows quizzically, reading the cover upside down.

“It’s a real page turner,” he grins, once again running his eyes up and down my scantily clad body.

“How was your party?” It is just a simple question but I can’t do this any more. I can’t be around him. It wreaks havoc with my emotions.

“Thanks for watching Alex,” I say briskly, and he looks affronted by the sudden change in my tone. I swallow back a sob and open the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Leaving him to see himself out, I flee to my bathroom, shutting the door behind me and leaning my forehead against it. The tears that have been threatening finally burst through and stream down my face. I move to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. The make-up and the perfect hair remind me of the glossy, glamorous woman I was when I was married to Eric, and I wet a face-cloth, rubbing at my face savagely. When not a trace of make-up remains, I braid my hair over my shoulder, so that it falls down past my breast bone. I step out of the loathsome dress and pull my tracksuit pants and vest from the hook behind the laundry basket. Feeling more like myself, despite the red eyes, I open the door.

My hand flies to my mouth just in time to stifle the scream that bursts from my chest.

“I’m sorry!” Aidan whispers, studying my face. “I was worried. You seem . . . Are you okay?”

“Please. Just go.” I push past him and make my way to the kitchen, lighting the gas to heat some water. I need a cup of coffee.

To my irritation he follows me, switches off the gas and takes the mug from my hand. Placing it on the counter he turns me to look at him. His brown eyes are the colour of chocolate, warm and genuinely concerned.

“Look, I know that you and I . . . well, our situation is awkward to say the least, but you are Alex’s mother. And for some reason you’re important to me. I mean, I remember your birthday, for God’s sake!” he laughs, a harsh, forced sound. “I don’t remember anything, but I remember your birthday.” There is a muscle going in his jaw and his eyes are searching my face. “The point is . . . I care about you and you’re not okay. No, don’t,” he shakes his head angrily as I open my mouth to protest. “You are not fine. Now, tell me what’s going on. Please.” He sounds almost desperate.

I square my shoulders and say the one thing that I know will stop this line of questioning in its tracks.

“Where is Sofia?” I meet his gaze, dead-pan, my face devoid of emotion. He senses it the second I shut myself down and he recoils visibly. An angry, empty smile pulls up the corners of his mouth and he drops his eyes.

“Okay, Rebecca. Fine. Have it your way, I give up.” He crosses the kitchen in just a few strides and I jump as the front door slams so hard that it rattles the windows.

Chapter 35

“Morning, Miss Davis.” Bailey, one of our soldiers, greets me cheerily as I enter the holding cells. We have very little need for these cells, in fact we only considered setting them up when we captured Darius, one of Eric Dane’s henchmen. Darius has been in our custody for a few months, but he does not speak a word. Now the holding cells have a new inmate, the man I have come to see.

“Good morning, Bailey,” I smile. “How’s our prisoner this morning?”

“He’s doing okay, still complaining about the food.” He grins, showing the slight gap between his front teeth.

“Sounds like Chase,” I say as I head down the stairs.

“You want to take a walk with me?” I ask as I unlock the door. Chase glares at me. His expensive grey jacket is rumpled and dirty and looks ridiculous over the black sweat pants and T-shirt he is wearing.

“You can’t just keep me here, Rebecca, I have rights,” he insists immediately.

“Aw, come on, Chase, the fresh air will do you good. Self-persecution really doesn’t suit you.”

He reluctantly gets to his feet.

“I’m sorry they’ve kept you locked up,” I apologise as we walk. “It wasn’t really the plan but they just weren’t sure what to do with you.” Chase has been well fed and taken out daily to bathe and exercise. He has also been kept constantly supplied with clean clothes and books. Hardly the life of an average prisoner, but it is a far cry from the opulence that he was accustomed to in the States.

He walks beside me arrogantly, narrowing his eyes at every person we pass. A few, not realising he is our captive, smile politely or call out a greeting.

“Manners maketh man, Chase,” I remind him as he ignores yet another friendly ‘hello’.

“What do you want with me?” he demands.

“Not much, really,” I comment drily. “You served a purpose, but other than that I don’t really need anything from you. Unfortunately you’re kind of stuck with us, seeing as we are thousands of miles from the States and you have no way of getting back.”

“Lend me a car,” he counters arrogantly.

“Sure.” The answer is not what he expects and I laugh.

“You’re free to go, Chase, I won’t keep you prisoner here. But be warned, without the exact location of our refuelling depots you won’t get very far and the Rebeldom is not exactly a walk in the park. It’s dangerous out there and I don’t really want anything bad to happen to you, you’re a good guy, underneath it all.”

“Get someone to take me, then.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

He sulks for a few moments and then his curiosity gets the better of him.

“Who are all these people?” He watches the comings and goings with ill-disguised interest.

“These people are NUSA’s so-called ‘savages’, the same people that the fences are protecting you from.” I smile.

“They don’t look very dangerous to me,” he mumbles, as Jenna sashays past on her three-inch heels, blowing him a kiss.

“That’s kind of the point I’m trying to make, Chase.”

I spend some time showing him around, letting him become familiar with the area and our routines. I introduce him to Jenna, who flirts unabashedly, and even manages to coax a smile out of him.

“So,” Jenna announces, as we make our way through town, “word on the street is that we have some young love in our midst.” I raise my eyebrows politely, inwardly praying she is not about to give me some intimate insight into Aidan and Sofia’s relationship. “Our gorgeous young Michael Kelly is apparently smitten with Adam’s daughter.”

“Hope?” I laugh. “Michael and Hope?” No wonder she looked so disappointed when he didn’t stand up for her. I smile, mulling over this new development. I adore Michael, and I have always felt sorry for him and Morgan, having lost their mother and been betrayed by their father. Hope, with her strong sense of family values, will be good for him. Even if she drives me a little crazy, she has a very good heart. Michael deserves someone with that inherent loyalty.

We gossip a few minutes more and then I sense Chase getting uncomfortable.

“Jen, could you finish the tour?” I ask pointedly. “He can stay in the hostel until we find somewhere suitable. If that’s okay with you, Chase?”

He regards me thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks,” he adds grudgingly.

“Oh, and Chase,” I add, almost as an afterthought, “all exits are monitored 24/7 by our scouts. Please don’t make me send my army after you.” He pouts sulkily and I wave as I walk away.

Over the course of the next few days I notice that Aidan has rekindled his friendship with Crackerjack, who has quickly adjusted to our community and is constantly recommending and implementing changes and showing us new and improved methods of getting things done. He has designed a new water-heating system, which allows water to be super-heated around the clock with minimal effort, and he set to work fixing a lot of our broken radio equipment – transmitters, walkie-talkies, even an old stereo system. Michael and his friends crow with delight when they manage to successfully play an old compact disc, and I laugh at how easily they are pleased.

Things between Aidan and me are strained. We have barely spoken a word to each other since the night of my party. He spends a lot of time with Alex, though, and for this I am grateful. As I promised, my father has examined Aidan and run a battery of tests, even Henry has given him a thorough medical check-up, but they cannot find anything wrong with him. They have concluded that his amnesia is dissociative, caused by the trauma of having the procedure forced upon him. There is no treatment for his condition – in most cases memory returns with time, but my father warns Aidan that his memory might not return at all and with this we have to be content.

Adam and Hope are soon settled into a lower level apartment near the hostel, and I notice that Michael spends more time there than anywhere else. Again, I feel my heart swell with happiness that he has met someone who he can get close to. Even Adam seems delighted by the budding relationship. Slowly but surely, we are finding suitable space for all the members of the Ordinary. We all agree that it’s probably best to keep the Deranged at the hostel for now; we do not want to overwhelm or intimidate them with something as luxurious as their own dwellings. At least they are monitored day and night at the hostel, and there is always someone there to tend to their needs.

Brooke and Oliver have officially started their schooling, and Elizabeth is gradually drawing them out and integrating them with their classmates. I meet Archer’s mother Sienna, who is an intimidating, attractive, amazingly well-preserved woman. Archer introduces her proudly; she has been assisting at the hostel and taking care of the Deranged. She and Henry strike up a rapport and together they prepare the garden beds in Henry’s front lawn and set about planting his precious seedlings.

All in all, life is good. There is still no word from Reed, but it has been only three weeks. It’s far too soon to expect anything. I am becoming more conscious of the life growing inside me. According to Henry I am about thirteen weeks along, far too early to feel any foetal movement, but my maternal instincts are starting to surface. I am not yet showing any visible signs of being pregnant so my secret is still safe, but this morning I noticed that the waistband of my favourite jeans was slightly tighter than normal and I am not sure how much longer I will be able to hide it, particularly from those closest to me. Jenna, in particular, is especially observant. I still have no idea how I am going to deal with Aidan and Reed and their reactions when they learn about the baby, but for now they are not my concern. I am going to be a mother again. After all these years of believing that I was sterile, I am pregnant. I am in awe of the miracle occurring within me, and already feel the same love that I have for Alex growing for my unborn child.

For the first time I’m also nervous about the mission ahead. The flash raids will begin as soon as the scouts return, which will be any day now, and I find that I am not quite as eager to head off into battle as I would normally be. What if something were to jeopardise the health of the child? I would not forgive myself if something bad were to happen. But I am the leader of the Legion. I still have the same beliefs; I still want NUSA defeated. Now, more than ever, I want to fight for a world where my children can grow up with all the opportunities that they deserve. I have to fight. The only other person I would trust to lead the Legion into battle is hundreds of miles away, in Georgia. All these thoughts run wild in my head, day after day and I am no closer to the answers.

It is 10 am one Thursday when our peaceful routine is shattered. We are just leaving the Gold Room after a council meeting when two of the scouts burst through the front doors of the casino, panting with exertion and supporting an exhausted Quinn between them. The Vice-President’s nephew looks dehydrated and half-starved, his eyes are sunken in his head and his face is ashen.

“Quinn!” I grab his arm and lead him to a nearby chair. “Get him some water,” I say to the room in general and a minute later someone hands me a mug. Quinn gulps it down gratefully.

“It’s good to see you again, Rebecca,” he croaks.

“How did you get here?”

“There’s an SUV parked not far from here.” It is one of the scouts who answers. “He left it in plain sight, where we would be sure to see it and then came through the southern corridor.”

“I escaped,” Quinn explains. “They were holding me in the Cook County jail, in the same cell where they kept Aidan. A few days ago one of the guards slipped up. I’ve been there so long, I guess they became complacent. He turned his back on me after bringing me my food, and I managed to subdue him. I used the knife on my plate,” he adds, catching sight of my dubious frown. “I stabbed him in the neck before he even knew what was happening. Anyway, I managed to get out of the prison without being caught. There were very few guards around. By the time they raised the alarm, I had already stolen the SUV and was heading east.”

“How did you get through the fences?”

“I rammed them, near the Missouri-Kansas border.”

“And nobody followed you?”

“No,” he shakes his head, taking another mug of water from David. “They didn’t have time – it happened so fast. I detoured a lot, trying to confuse any trackers and I stopped and refuelled at Camp 7.”

My mind is racing, it just doesn’t make sense. It seems too easy, too convenient.

“Quinn,” I make sure I have his full attention before continuing, “the guard that you killed, you say he turned his back on you?”

“Yeah. Can you actually believe it? What an idiot!”

“No,” I answer, rising to my feet and staring down at him, a feeling of foreboding coming over me. “No, I don’t believe it.” Turning to the scouts I order them back to their posts immediately. “I think you walked right into a trap.” Raising my head, I meet Kwan’s eyes and I see my own trepidation reflected on his face.

“You’re a fool, boy!” the General booms irately, but before I can say anything to stop the tirade I know is coming, another two scouts erupt into the foyer.

“The convoy, they’ve found us!” one gasps, and my blood runs cold in my veins.

“Where are they?” the General barks, his lecture forgotten.

“The southern pass. They’re a few miles out but they’re heading straight for us.”

“Michael,” I turn to him, grabbing his shoulders to snap him out of his shock. “Get to the school. Get the children to the Sanctuary.” The Sanctuary is the underground basement of one of the old hotels. It’s enormous, big enough to hold over a thousand people. “Dad,” I add, grabbing my father’s arm, “go with him.”

He can hear the pleading in my voice and he rushes after Michael without arguing. I push my primary concern for Alex aside, he’ll be with Michael and my father; he’ll be safe. He has to be, I’ll make sure of it.

“Morgan,” I turn to her and she looks to me for instructions, all traces of animosity erased as we are united in a common goal. “You go to the hostel, get everyone out and join Michael. Once they’re safe, report straight back. We’re going to need you.” It’s the first time I am directly including Morgan in a battle, and her eyes widen as she realises how serious this must be.

“Archer, find Adam. Tell him to round up the Ordinary and send them to the Sanctuary, he knows where it is.” This is going to be a tough task; many of the Ordinary are now settled in their own homes and are scattered far and wide, but Adam has enough people to assist him. “As soon as you’ve delivered the message, get back here. And bring your bow,” I add.

I turn to General Ross.

“General, rally the Legion. Every soldier we have. I want them to meet me in the High Street in ten minutes.” The General marches off, Smith and Wakeford right behind him.

“Everyone else, warn as many people as you can, spread the word. Soldiers to the street, civilians to the Sanctuary. If there’s not enough space in the basement, women and children first. The men can take refuge on the ground floor.”

“Shouldn’t we send them out through the northern exit? Let them make a run for it?” one of the younger scouts asks, but I disagree.

“No, it’s too late for that. They’ll never outrun them and too many people could get hurt in the chaos.”

“Rebecca, I’m so sorry.” Quinn looks devastated as he gets shakily to his feet.

“Go with the others,” I push him gently towards the door, unable to find any words to appease his conscience.

“Rebecca,” Kwan interrupts calmly, “you mentioned there were a hundred and fifty soldiers in the convoy?”

“Give or take.”

“Our Legion currently stands at two hundred and forty, so we’ve got a good chance of winning this.”

“At what cost?” I reply. “And if any of them get through our defences, the Sanctuary will be a slaughterhouse. Anyway there’s nothing we can do now, we can’t change anything,” I pull myself together. “We have to try.” I race towards the High Street where a crowd is already gathering. Never have I needed Reed more. His strength gives us an incredible advantage and his confidence makes me believe we can take on the world.

I leap on to the roof of an SUV yelling at everyone to keep quiet. Kwan and Jethro take up position just below me, in front of the car.

“Rebecca!” Aidan leaps up next to me and I see Sofia wringing her hands just to the left of the SUV. “Where’s Alex?”

“They’re taking him to the Sanctuary.” I sag in relief. Aidan will protect Alex. “Go,” I instruct, “find him. Protect him. Please.” He jumps down and grabs Sofia’s hand, pulling her up the street behind him.

“Okay, everyone!” I yell, and the Legion falls quiet below me. “There is a NUSA convoy heading right for us. According to our estimates we outnumber them, but they are trained and deadly. Some of you are new to the Legion, your training is minimal. I need those of you who have had less than six months training to pair up. Do not take on any opponent alone, you will lose. We don’t need any heroes out there. Understood?” A few of the men nod their assent.

I see Archer fighting his way through the crowd, Morgan right behind him. David is also near the front, awaiting further instructions.

“Archer, I need you to find a vantage point on higher ground. It’s going to be hard shooting when the fighting begins, but do what you can. Just don’t shoot any of ours,” I add, and he smiles grimly as he turns and makes his way back through the crowd. “Okay, I’m not waiting for them to come through the pass and into our city, so we’re going to go out and meet them.” The Legion roars, their blood up. “I want experienced fighters at the front, new recruits to the back. Kwan, Jethro, you’re with me.”

As I jump down, I catch sight of the General muscling his way towards me.

“General, what are you doing here? You need to get to the Sanctuary.”

“You want the experienced fighters up front?” he snaps and I nod, wondering where on earth he is going with this. He’s not exactly fighting fit.

“Well, forgive the assumption, but these two are probably the most experienced fighters we have.” He gestures at Smith and Wakeford and my question dies on my lips. Smith and Wakeford are never far from the General’s side, they shadow his every move. Judging by the looks on their faces they are not at all happy about the General’s implied suggestion that they should fight with the Legion and leave him unattended.

“Sir, with all due respect . . .” Smith begins to voice his objections but the General cuts him short.

“Shut up, Smith. Your duty is to protect our community, me included. So best you don’t let any of those bastards get past you.”

“Sir . . .” the loyal bodyguard tries once more and the General rounds on him furiously.

“That’s an order, Smith! You will follow Miss Davis’s instructions. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” the younger man salutes and the General turns back to me.

“Good luck, Miss Davis,” he inclines his head and then strides back up the High Street towards the Sanctuary. There is no time to question the General’s motives, or the sudden change in his usually self-serving behaviour; we have an army to contend with.

Chapter 36

We make our way to the southernmost part of the city and then file out through the mountain corridor. As we emerge on the other side, even though I am prepared for it, I am still intimidated by the size of the convoy.

I stand still watching their approach with Kwan and Jethro on either side of me. David, Morgan, Smith and Wakeford are just beyond them, and the rest of the Legion files out of the corridor to fan out behind us.

“I’d feel a whole lot better if he were here,” Jethro murmurs without thinking, and I know who he is referring to – I am thinking exactly the same thing.

With perfect precision the convoy comes to a halt about 50 yards away, clouds of dust rising up behind them. There is a moment of complete and utter silence and then, all at once, doors are flung wide open and the NUSA army disembarks. There are too many to count but I am confident that we have the numbers. They are all wearing the blue NUSA uniform which makes them easy to identify. One man steps forward and I am gratified to see a flicker of surprise cross his face when he realises the sheer size of our forces. His gaze runs left to right and back again, assessing us. He raises his hand and with military precision, a smaller group detaches from the rest to form a V behind him. As we watch, a soldier on his left hands him a loudspeaker. He raises it to his mouth.

“We do not want to fight you,” he begins, and I hear Morgan’s sarcastic snigger behind me as he continues, “that is not why we’re here.”

“Why are you here, then?” I yell back.

“Our instructions are to return to the New United States with Rebecca Dane,” he speaks slowly and clearly.

“What do you want with her?” Jethro calls across the space between us.

“Mrs Dane is wanted for high treason and acts of terrorism, punishable by law.”

“And what if I say no?” I shout across the space between us.

“Then we will have no choice but to take you by force, Mrs Dane.” Oh, like I haven’t heard that one before. I meet his cold, militant eyes and then I shake my head, feeling the old familiar surge, the adrenalin of the fight fuelling my body.

“Well, I’m right here, asshole. Why don’t you put on your big boy pants and come and get me?”

Recovering quickly, he signals to his men and they start to approach, crossing the distance between us quickly and purposefully.

“Remember what I said,” I caution my soldiers, “nobody needs to be a hero.” The front runners of the NUSA horde are almost upon us and I lunge forward, hitting one man with a vicious uppercut. Dropping to the ground, I sweep the floor in a low spinning kick and at least five men surrounding me drop to the ground, unbalanced. Before I can even stand up, the Legion are upon them, showing no mercy – they are fighting to the death. I scan the crowd trying to find the man who had been holding the loudspeaker. He is obviously the leader and the only way to kill a snake is to cut off its head. I spot him briefly through the chaos of the fighting, duelling Wakeford, but they are quickly swallowed up in the crowd and I lose sight of them. I leap on to the shoulders of another NUSA soldier and squeeze my thighs around his neck, depriving him of oxygen, and I use the higher vantage point to search again. They are a few yards to my left. I jerk my knees together, the force snapping the man’s neck, but before he even hits the ground, I am already fighting my next opponent. I dodge under the arm of another soldier, his intention obviously to connect with my face, and then I deflect another blow that comes from my right. Striking back, I swivel around, swinging my own arm in an arc, the speed with which I do it emitting a hissing sound as the air is displaced. My new attacker does not have enough time to sidestep the blow and I catch him full in the face with the lower part of my arm. I grab the shoulders of the man beside him and use his weight to stabilise myself as I kick back at another soldier who is approaching me from behind.

The battle is building and I try to focus only on my next opponent, but there are so many people falling to the ground that it is impossible to ignore. Far too many are Legion soldiers. An arrow whizzes past my ear, so close that it misses me by less than an inch, impaling a NUSA soldier through the neck. I grab hold of the shaft and pull, freeing it and I plunge it immediately into another challenger’s chest. I keep fighting, not able to inflict as much damage as I would like as I favour my belly, trying to dodge any blows to my stomach.

I find myself on the perimeter of the massive crowd, and out of the corner of my eye I see a movement to the left, towards the entrance to the mountain pass. I can’t afford for any NUSA soldiers to get through and into the city. I turn and immediately let out a howl of frustration. Instead of NUSA fighters, I see familiar faces and I let out a stream of choice words. A few of Adam’s men, including Aidan, are pulling injured Legion soldiers from the fray, dragging them into the relative safety of the corridor to tend to their wounds. With a sinking heart I see Henry leaning over one of them, his hands pressing down on the fallen man’s chest, performing chest compressions. As I watch in horror, I see Hope running towards the mob, a wicked-looking scimitar in her right hand. She drops onto her knees only a yard away, sliding through the dirt and bringing the curved blade sweeping in an arc, slicing through a NUSA soldier’s calves. The man lets out a scream and collapses onto his knees and one of his companions spins around to find the source of his agony.

Hope scrabbles backwards, her feet kicking out in the dirt, but she is not quick enough to evade the speed-Gifted soldier, and he grabs her by the ear and pulls her to her feet. This all happens in a matter of seconds. I shake off the man who is trying to restrain me and fly forward, running straight at them. At the last minute, I launch myself into the air, bending my arm at the elbow and landing with incredible force on the back of his neck. I land heavily on top of him as he falls limply to the ground, but I am up again in a second, pulling Hope out of the way just as another soldier raises his arm to strike her down.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yell, racing her back to safety. “What are all of you doing?” I repeat, staring down at the others.

“I’m a doctor, I took an oath.” Henry’s is the only answer I get and there is no time for anything else. Three of the NUSA men have followed me and I spin to face them, curling my lip in rage. They are too close to the helpless helpers behind me. Grabbing Hope’s blade from her hand, I lunge forward, sweeping the blade and severing the closest soldier’s neck. A spray of blood spurts over my upper body, but I am already onto my next target. I kick him in the groin, and as he bends over holding the injured area, I spin so that my back is against him, plunging the wide head of the blade into the third man’s stomach. He too doubles over, trying in vain to hold on to the organs that are spilling from his gut. Without a moment’s hesitation, I turn back to the groaning man still clutching his groin and punch him full in the mouth, his teeth cutting my knuckles badly, and then I clench my fingers in a knife strike and jab forward, landing a sharp blow to his Adam’s apple. I do not give him a second thought as he slowly asphyxiates.

I survey the battle taking place in front of me. It’s too much to bear, nothing but blood and death and chaos. As if on cue, the loudspeaker booms over us and everyone stops fighting and turns to face the speaker on the other side of the crowd.

“Rebecca Dane?”

The silence after such violence is deafening. I have no idea what is going on.

“Get back to town, now!” I hiss, and the small group behind me does not argue, sensing something is up. Crouched low to avoid detection they start to creep back towards the city.

I walk forward steadily placing one foot in front of the other. Nobody stops me, and the crowd slowly parts, letting me through. As I emerge on the other side I close my eyes in despair. Checkmate.

Standing beside the NUSA leader, who is still holding the loudspeaker at his side, is another soldier. He has Vice-President Kenneth Williams in a stronghold around the neck. The frail, elderly man cannot even struggle, his lip and his nose are bleeding and he has a nasty gash on his forehead.

I rack my brain trying to come up with a plan but I am too far away; his neck will be snapped before I even get close.

“You think one man’s life is more important to me than all the others?” I yell.

“No,” he yells back, “but if you come with us now my men will not harm another person here.”

“Your men are outnumbered!” I counter. “You have far more to lose than I do.”

“I don’t think so.” A nasty sneer crosses his face and he looks to my left. I turn to see what has his attention and my heart drops into my stomach.

Aidan, Henry, Hope and the others are all being dragged forward, each restrained by a NUSA soldier. They didn’t make it back. Dammit! Why did I leave them unattended? Aidan and Crackerjack are struggling, and Hope is desperately trying to twist herself out of her captor’s grip but they are no match for the strength of the Gifted soldiers. As I watch, Aidan earns himself a punishing blow to the kidney and he doubles over in agony, coughing violently.

“Don’t do it, Rebecca,” Kwan has made his way to my side.

“We can win this,” Jethro agrees, appearing beside him.

“They’ll die,” I glance back at the hostages, “and he’ll die.” Kenneth Williams stares at me hollowly, acceptance in his kind eyes. He is prepared to die for our cause; he wouldn’t want me to surrender.

“Every war has casualties,” Kwan sounds pained, but certain. I stare at the NUSA leader wondering how far he will go.

“Go to hell!” I shout, calling his bluff. He does not reply. Instead, he nods ever so slightly at the men to my left and, in the time it takes me to focus on the group, one of his soldiers snaps Hope’s neck as easily as a matchstick. In the second that it takes her lifeless body to slump to the ground, the Legion gives a collective bellow of rage and start to fight with more anger and hatred than ever before. I hear a howl of fury that could only be Morgan, and while a part of me is relieved that she is alive, another feels all her pain. She has lost a friend, while her brother, who has known so little love in his young life, has lost the first good thing ever to happen to him. I stand, frozen, gazing at the young girl’s lifeless body and something inside me snaps. A blind fury rises like bile in my throat and I turn towards the men holding our civilians hostage.

“I wouldn’t,” their leader issues an ominous warning. My eyes find Aidan, who is fighting for all he is worth, his eyes never leaving Hope’s body. I pause, trying to clear my head. Aidan could be next. My chest heaving with unbridled rage, my head pounding with bloodlust, I turn back to the speaker.

“Call your men to heel,” he smiles evilly. Using every ounce of restraint I possess I call upon the Legion to cease their onslaught. The loudspeaker crackles again, “Oh, and did I mention,” he adds sadistically, “some of my men managed to squeeze through your poorly executed defences.” He raises a walkie-talkie and presses the transmitter button, holding it down.

“You son of a bitch!” I scream, the sound echoing through the mountains around us as I hear the screaming of the women and children in the Sanctuary. I clench my jaw, my right leg twitching uncontrollably as I fight the urge to run at him and rip his throat out. I am dangerously close to losing it; on the verge of pure hysteria.

“I’m waiting, Mrs Dane,” he taunts.

“I have to go,” I turn back to Kwan and Jethro helplessly and this time they don’t argue. We will not risk our children, not for anything.

“We’ll find you,” Kwan utters, his voice low and deadly. “You know we’ll find you.”

“I know,” I smile weakly, my mind refusing to believe that it is over so quickly.

“Get your men out of here!” I roar. “Once they have retreated to a safe distance I’ll come to you.”

“We’ll go,” he indicates the soldiers amongst us, “but the men within your city will only depart, unharmed,” he adds clearly, “once you are in my custody.”

“Fair enough,” I tilt my chin defiantly, refusing to show fear.

One by one the men around us make their way back to the NUSA vehicles. The moment his captor releases him Aidan sprints over to us.

“No!” he yells, skidding to a halt in front of me. “You can’t, Rebecca, don’t be stupid!”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“They’ll kill you!” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“They have the children,” I answer simply. “They have Alex.”

“We can fight, we can . . .”

“We can’t, Aidan.” I touch his arm. “There is nothing we can do.”

I watch as the military vehicles retreat to a safe distance and then I take a deep breath.

“The raids,” I murmur, meeting Kwan’s eyes. “The flash raids, you need to make sure they’re successful. Make sure you get the numbers down.” He nods grimly.

“Look after Alex,” I tell Aidan, and he stares at me bleakly, the muscle in his jaw twitching in raw frustration as he tries to curb his emotions. I walk away towards the convoy.

“And Kwan,” I add, glancing at him over my shoulder, “find Reed. You’re going to need him.”

Chapter 37

The NUSA leader has his men cuff my hands and fasten my legs with heavy, reinforced metal chains before he opens the back door of the Humvee, gesturing me inside and sitting down opposite me. The Vice-President has been loaded into another vehicle although I have no idea which.

“My name is Lieutenant General Logan,” he introduces himself casually and I avert my gaze, turning my head to face the front of the familiar-looking vehicle. It is almost identical to the Humvees that we confiscated in Flagstaff.

Surprisingly, I am not hurt or treated at all badly during the three-day journey back to the States. I am given water, but no food – not that I would eat it, anyway. I am confined to the Humvee most of the time, only being let out to use the bathroom every few hours. The worst part is the not knowing. I have no idea who survived the battle and who was injured. I had not seen Archer or David after the fighting started, nor Smith or Wakeford. I don’t know if any of our civilians at the Sanctuary were injured in the raid – my father, Michael, the General, Adam. I am fairly certain that the helpless women and children would not have been harmed, but if any of the men had tried to stop the soldiers they may have retaliated with force. Hope’s death haunts me, the scene playing over and over in my head. The brave, feckless girl didn’t deserve to die. If I had never found her – found the Ordinary – she would still be alive, somewhere out in the Rebeldom, saving people. I obsess over this constantly as I sit quietly in the back of the Humvee, not uttering a word.

We enter the States through the Nebraska-Iowa border and I feel the tension building in my body as we leave the Rebeldom. It is amazing how I felt more at home outside the fences from the moment I set foot there, than I ever felt living in the States. I can only hope that the others are safe and will follow my instructions. I have tried not to think about Alex, it is too painful, but I cannot ignore the other child that is growing inside me, my only companion on this awful journey. It is agony to think that if something happens to me the child will not survive, and I find myself wishing I had had more time, that they had captured me after the birth, so that both my children could be safe in Las Vegas right now. Lieutenant General Logan kept his word and we left Vegas without any further bloodshed, but I do not trust him. There is a strong possibility that once I am safely ensconced in the Capital they will return to finish what they started. I am certain that the Council will be making preparations to evacuate the Nevada base now that NUSA knows its location. They will know that we are no longer safe there. The loss of our safe haven, of our home, is a devastating blow, but hopefully Adam will know somewhere else where we can settle temporarily. They, I correct myself, not we. The chances that I will make it back to my people are slim to none.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, eventually, breaking the day’s long silence. Logan answers quite amiably.

“Cook County.”

“How original,” I sneer.

“It’s really the only prison facility we have,” he points out politely, ignoring my sarcasm.

We pull up outside the depressing building and, as we emerge in the sunshine, I catch sight of the VP, being led by two NUSA guards into the correctional facility ahead of me.

“Mr Williams!” I yell, and he tries to turn his head to look back at me, but it’s too late as he is yanked forward and disappears through the door. At least he is still alive, I think, desperately trying to look on the bright side of this awful situation.

The respectful manner with which I have been treated so far has lulled me into a false sense of security. As soon as I am escorted to my cell the nightmare really begins. Logan’s exaggerated civil behaviour is gone; he forces me into a heavy metal chair and chains my arms and legs, securing me so tightly that the metal bites painfully into my skin. I survey my surroundings. The cell they have brought me to is a closed, windowless room, the only light coming from a single fluorescent bulb hanging overhead. There is only one door and I am seated in the middle of the empty room, facing it. The room is completely devoid of furniture other than the chair I am bound to, and a metal bucket in the corner, from which a vile smell emanates. More ominously, there are metal brackets mounted in various positions in the ceiling, walls and floor.

The door opens again and a tall, insipid-looking man enters, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Joseph Hale,” I smile, “so nice of you to join us. I would stand to greet you, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment.” I make a point of rattling my chains. Unlike Logan, Joseph cannot ignore the dripping sarcasm and his face pinches in contempt.

“Mrs Dane,” he begins, trying to sound intimidating, “you have been a thorn in my side for some time now.”

“I was aiming for pain in your ass, but close enough,” I retort.

“I need to know what your plans are,” he gets to the point. “What is the Resistance up to?”

“I have no idea. Why don’t you let me go and I’ll be sure to ask them?” Logan steps forward abruptly and his right fist connects with my face so hard that he breaks my nose and blood pours down into my mouth. I spit it out, gazing up at him hatefully, my curiosity about his ability satisfied. Logan is obviously strength-Gifted.

“Well, I see you’re not quite as refined as you like to make out,” I remark sardonically.

“Answer the President’s question,” he orders.

“I will answer the question,” I drawl, “when it is asked by the person wanting the answers. You,” I raise my eyebrows distastefully at Joseph, “are nothing but an errand boy.”

“I am the President of the New United States of America!” he cries petulantly.

“I wouldn’t brag about it. I killed your predecessor, and history has a funny way of repeating itself.” This time I am ready for it, but it still hurts like hell as Logan hits me again in exactly the same spot.

“What is the plan?” Hale asks again, sounding desperate. I say nothing, lowering my eyes to the floor and acting as if he isn’t there. After a few more attempts, Joseph stalks out, Logan right behind him. They switch off the light as they leave and, as the door closes, I am plunged into blackness.

I have no idea how much time passes. Time deprivation can drive a person mad, or so I have heard, but I refuse to think about it. Instead, I fill the time recalling happy memories, memories of my childhood with Aidan, of my mother and Jonathan; of the first time I met Reed and the time he saved me from Cole and Jared, two corrupt policemen enlisted by Eric. I think of Jenna and my dad, of Kwan and Jethro and all the brave soldiers I have the honour of leading. I recall the overwhelming relief that I felt when I learned that Aidan was alive, when I found that Reed had not perished during the cave-in down in the Chicago tunnels. Above all, I think of Alex. Every memory I have of him, from the time he took his first breath to the look on his face when I presented him with the toys I had collected in California; the way he bites his lip when he knows he’s in trouble and the way he hums to himself when he’s running; his brown eyes; the lone dimple in his left cheek; his cheeky grin. Around and around the memories swim in my head as if on repeat, and eventually I drift off to sleep.

I wake up when Joseph Hale steps purposefully back into the small cell. The sudden light burns my eyes and I shut them tightly for a minute, before I start blinking rapidly and tears stream down my cheeks. I am thirsty enough to know that it has been at least twenty-four hours since I have had any water, which means it has been at least four days since I have eaten anything. My stomach has been growling intermittently for days now. Normally, the lack of sustenance wouldn’t bother me, but I am worried about the baby.

Joseph produces a paper cup filled with tepid water and he holds it to my lips as I drink it down in one swallow. I eye him warily as he walks slowly around the chair before coming to stand right in front of me.

“Mrs Dane,” he begins, “I am trying to help you. I’m not a monster. I don’t relish the torture of a woman, even one as exceptional as yourself.” He pauses dramatically. “Please, help me to help you. Just tell us what we need to know.” It is so rehearsed, so polished, that I want to laugh at him. He’s a puppet and we both know it.

“Us?” He blinks in confusion before he registers what it is he has just unwittingly admitted to.

“What is your army planning?” He drops the facade and bends down, his hands on either side of me, gripping the arms of the chair that I’m bound to.

“I want to speak to the man in charge,” I insist.

“Tell me!” he screams, his mouth only an inch or two from my face. I jerk my head back and then bring it flying forward, head-butting him square on the nose. Blood spurts onto his pristine white collared shirt. I feel the skin on my forehead split, but almost immediately the tingling begins. Joseph clutches his nose, his eyes staring at me in horror and disbelief. Without another word he stumbles from the room. A second later the door bursts open and Logan smashes his fist into my face for the third time. Wiping his hand on the back of his navy blue cargo pants, he walks out, switching off the light and closing the door.

More time passes. I’m sure it’s longer this time, but I have no way of knowing for certain. Twice more I have been given a pitiful amount of water, but still no food. I am trying desperately to figure out exactly what it is that they want from me, other than the obvious – what the Legion’s next move will be. When Joseph returns he has a plaster taped over the bridge of his nose and two blackened eyes. I laugh at the sight, feeling a sadistic satisfaction and he glares at me furiously. He tries again; the same questions, the same threats, but I’m in no mood for games and I simply remain silent. He leaves after a few minutes, muttering in frustration and switching off the light. I am simply grateful that there is no sign of Logan; my nose has healed itself enough.

Time passes and the memories are becoming vaguer, the lines blurring between them. It is Aidan tending my gunshot wound, and Reed holding my hand when Alex is born. I also have mild cramps in my lower abdomen and I am starting to lose my fragile grip on my self-control. Every few hours I am given water, but I have resigned myself to the fact that food will not be forthcoming. I wonder idly how long it will take to starve to death. I think it’s about three weeks, but I have heard of people lasting as long as a few months. I hope if it comes down to death by starvation, that it is the former and not the latter. The next time the door opens Logan and another soldier slowly unfasten me from the chair and drag me across the room to the bucket. I am too relieved to be mortified as Logan instructs the younger man to pull down my pants. They look away briefly as I relieve myself, and then I am secured once more. Darkness descends again and I slump in the chair, wondering what my friends are doing.

The door opens again and I barely have the energy to look up, but when I do, I am jolted wide awake, riveted in place by shock.

“Rebecca, dear, why did you have to make this so difficult?” Kenneth Williams stands before me, a small smile playing about his lips. There is no trace of blood on his face and he is wearing a suit and tie, looking in far better health than I have ever seen him.

“Mr Williams,” I croak, “what are you . . .” I cast around but I cannot find the words that I am looking for. This doesn’t make sense. My brain is foggy and I can’t seem to comprehend what I’m seeing.

“I thought you would be happier to see me, Miss Davis,” he croons, putting his fingers under my chin and tilting my head up to meet his maniacal gaze. “Haven’t you been asking to see me for days now?”

“Oh my God,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away. It was him all along; the Vice-President, not the General.

“Let’s get straight to the point, shall we?” he smiles and inclines his head towards the door. A well-built man enters and I gasp in surprise at the familiar face.

Jethro? My brain refuses to believe that he is in on it too.

“Unfortunately, Rebecca, you’ve made it quite obvious that we are going to have to do this the hard way,” Kenneth says reprovingly. “Now,” he presses his wrinkled, leathery hands together and rests them under his chin, “what is the Legion planning?”

“Why?” I ask. I am barely listening. I am so stunned by the revelation that he is behind it all. As quick as a snake striking, Jethro steps forward and plunges a short-handled knife into my right thigh. I howl with pain, my hands straining against the chains binding them as my instinct to pull the knife out kicks in. I take a few deep breaths and force myself not to struggle against my restraints and not to look at the hilt protruding from my flesh.

I glance up at Jethro, dazed and revolted by his betrayal, and then I see the faint birthmark on the left side of his face and I realise my mistake.

“You’re Mason,” I breathe, and his head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening in surprise. “You’re supposed to be dead,” I frown, trying to recall what Jethro had told me about his brother. Could this be my way out of here? “I know your brother,” I say quickly, glancing at Kenneth to see his reaction. He looks indifferent; not a good sign. “Your brother is alive,” I continue desperately, wondering if they had fed Mason the same lies they had told Jethro, “he’s on our side.” Praying that this will make a difference, I gaze up at him pleadingly but he does not falter.

“My brother is weak,” is all he says and then he steps back again, taking his place beside the now-grinning VP. My spirits plummet as quickly as they had been lifted.

“Ah, such an interesting story,” Kenneth rubs his hands together gleefully. “Mason is on my personal security detail. I told Eric he was special,” he adds, smiling fondly at the younger man.

“Eric?” I frown in confusion.

“Yes, Eric,” he rolls his eyes, “your errant husband. Everything was going so well and then he had to go and get all noble on me.” He shakes his head in annoyance. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.” His eyes harden.

“You were working with Eric?”

“No. Eric was working for me,” he boasts.

“But how is that possible? You were in New York; you were with my father in the fallout shelter. You lived in the Rebeldom from the beginning, how on earth could you have teamed up with Eric?”

“Before the war I was the second most powerful man on the planet,” he hisses, “but I had to stand by and watch as a decision was made and executed, a decision that destroyed our entire planet, that killed billions! My wife, my daughter . . .” he pauses, composing himself before he continues. “I tried to warn him. I told James Vincent that it was the wrong course, that it would destroy us. He wouldn’t listen and look what happened. I was the better man for the job, Miss Davis. If I had been in charge, none of it would have happened.” I keep quiet, trying to reconcile this madman with the kind and gentle person I had believed Kenneth Williams to be.

“I spent twenty years in the Rebeldom,” his voice is like acid, “in that godforsaken shit-hole!” I flinch, the word sounds worse coming from the refined, elderly man. “A lowly third to that self-righteous Harrison and your precious father neither of whom, I might add, have any idea how to run a country. America cannot be run on high hopes and good intentions. I had to stand idly by, supporting their cause, while Eric Dane usurped the position that should have been mine to begin with, while he rebuilt America and locked me out, along with the savages.” He examines his nails.

“But that’s exactly why the Resistance was created,” I insist desperately, “to overthrow Eric’s reign! To bring down the fences and unite America, to make things better, for everyone, yourself included!”

“Yes, Miss Davis, I know what the Resistance wants, I was there at its inception, while you were still milking cows in Michigan.” His voice drips with disdain.

“So, why are you doing this? We want the same thing!”

“No, we don’t,” he corrects coldly. “Not any more. I don’t want the boundary fences removed. I don’t want everyone out there,” he shudders, “coming in here and demanding equality and free will. Where do you think democracy will leave me?”

“So you want to replace Eric Dane?” I am nothing short of disgusted. “You want to pick up where he left off? To abandon the rest of the world and continue with the tyranny that he started?”

“In a nutshell, yes. Except that I intend to do it better.”

Chapter 38

“How did you get a man as powerful as Eric Dane to comply?” I cannot fathom how someone as weak and powerless as Kenneth could have coerced Eric to even give him the time of day, let alone manage to slowly obtain power over him.

“When I first approached Eric I told him I could feed him information about the Resistance,” he replies smugly. “It worked well; he slowly came to depend on me and the information I could give him. He was obsessed with defeating the Rebels – he feared them, and I fed that fear until he became reliant on my information.” He steps forward and examines the knife in my thigh with mild interest. It hurts like hell, but I’ll be damned if I’ll show it. I can feel the tingling, but my body cannot heal the wound while the blade is still impaled in my flesh.

“And then you came along,” he glares at me down his nose, “with all your idealism and steadfast determination to unite America. I wasn’t really concerned until you started forming the Legion.” He looks as though the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and I feel a surge of pride. “I couldn’t have you undoing all my best-laid plans. You posed a threat to everything I was working towards, so I informed your husband that you were working for the Resistance.”

“He never said anything,” I muse, remembering how Eric had started acting differently, how he had seemed not to trust me. “He didn’t know about my abilities,” I narrow my eyes in confusion, “you never told him that.”

“Why would I? He was obsessed with the Gifting procedures. If he had known of your Power of Three his curiosity would no doubt have outweighed his common sense. Sadly, I underestimated his feelings for you. When I realised that the Legion was becoming more powerful I told him he needed to deal with you. It was the only way to disband your army, to make the Legion vulnerable so that we could destroy them.”

“Well, as you can see, Eric didn’t manage to kill me. I’m sorry if that was inconvenient for you,” I mock.

“He didn’t fail!” he hisses. “He didn’t even try! He had more than enough time but he chose not to believe me. Or if he did, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy you. Either way, I could feel it all slipping away, all the years of planning, just when I was so close, and your Legion was growing stronger. I began to lose hope.”

I know now that Adam was right. Eric had been threatened. They had threatened my life; the life of the woman he loved. It’s clear now. I cannot deny it any longer. Eric had loved me in his own twisted way, enough so that when he realised I was in danger, he turned his back on his allies and made himself vulnerable.

“Why didn’t he just tell me,” I whisper, almost to myself.

“Oh, I’m sure he intended to do just that,” Kenneth replies, almost jovially, “not that he ever knew my true identity, but he knew enough that you might just have put it together between you eventually. Which is why I suggested he kidnap Aidan. I knew that taking your lover would be the one thing that would ensure you would never stop to listen. He knew it would lure you out and I knew it would be the final wedge between you. I had realised by this stage that Eric had to die,” Kenneth continues calmly. “I already had Joseph on my side, a willing puppet, so all that I needed to do was dispose of the one man who stood in my way, who wouldn’t bend to my will.”

“I killed Eric,” I whisper, horrified.

“Yes, you did,” he smiles evilly. “You made it so easy for me. All I had to do was enter the States and make sure that Joseph was instated. Now I control NUSA and I don’t have any intention of giving up that power.”

The pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together. That’s why my father and Kenneth had entered the States without any guards. It wasn’t the General, it was the Vice-President all along.

“Why don’t you just declare yourself?” I ask. “Why hide behind Hale?”

“I prefer to remain in the shadows, for now,” he adds. “I have lost all contact with the Resistance and until I know what the Legion is up to, I don’t think it would be wise to expose myself.”

“If you wanted to destroy the Legion, why didn’t you just have more of your men attack the Nevada headquarters? You know its location; why all the smoke and mirrors and sending Quinn out as a decoy?”

“Quinn needed to believe he had escaped, so I made it possible for him to do so. I needed the Resistance to believe that my men had tracked him, so that they would not suspect that I had given them the location. A bit of fake blood and some dirty clothes and you all so misguidedly believed I was a hostage,” he chuckles.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I say. “You could have destroyed the Legion, so why didn’t you?”

“Because I no longer want to destroy your army,” he whines, as though explaining to a child. “You have made it impossible for me to create new soldiers, Miss Davis. It will take years to rebuild the laboratory and I don’t want to wait that long.”

“So? What does that have to do with . . .” I realise now what it is that he wants. “You need our lab.” It makes perfect sense. With our equipment he could pick up where he left off; it would be as though the NUSA lab explosion never happened. Ours is now the only operational lab left. That’s not entirely true, my subconscious whispers, Kwan Lee and the Kellys are proof of this. There are people who have been Gifted who were not part of NUSA’s programme, nor did they get their abilities at our Vegas lab.

Kenneth’s voice brings me back to the present. “Not just your lab,” he says, “I want everything. Your father, for his expertise; your son,” my blood runs cold, “for his DNA.” This makes terrifying sense. Alex is the only child to have inherited an ability, as far as Kenneth knows – he is unaware of Brooke’s existence. If anyone were to figure out how or why, it would be possible to raise an entire new race of super-soldiers without the high risk that the procedures carry.

“You will never lay a finger on my son,” I growl menacingly.

“Mason?” Kenneth turns to the younger man, sounding almost bored. Mason steps forward and plunges another blade into my left thigh. My howl of pain and rage echoes around the small cell.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing,” Kenneth continues, as though nothing has happened, “I want your Legion, too.”

They leave then, switching off the light as they go and I am plunged once more into darkness. Mason doesn’t remove the knives and the pain is excruciating, even the slightest movement is agony. I try to clear my mind so that I can sleep, but the pain makes it impossible. They return sooner than expected and I welcome the distraction.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, for the first time initiating the conversation. I understand everything else; why he needs the lab, my dad, Alex’s DNA, even my army. More than two hundred ready-made soldiers will make him invincible, and if he has the Legion on his side, he wipes out any and all opposition. There will be no Resistance; no one to counter him, but that still doesn’t explain why I am here.

“I want to know what the plan is,” he answers, “what the Legion is going to do now?”

“There is no plan,” I sigh. “Blowing up the lab was our final desperate act. We cannot access the States.”

“What have you been doing these past few months?” he asks sceptically.

“We’ve been travelling,” I answer, sticking as close to the truth as possible so that he doesn’t see through the lies. “Searching for survivors, all over the country.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want, you crazy bastard,” I hiss. It is not unexpected, but it is the fourth time my nose has been broken since I arrived. Mason’s blow is at least twice as hard as Logan’s.

“Very well,” Kenneth purses his lips, gazing down at me contemplatively. “Now, as to the reason that you’re here. It’s quite simple, really. I need you to convince the Legion to join me.”

“What?” His answer is nothing that I would ever have expected.

“We both know that they will never abandon the people they are protecting, unless,” he smiles conspiratorially, “the directive comes from you.”

“You’re insane.”

“They’re soldiers, Rebecca. They do as you say. So you are going to tell them to join me and you’re going to get your father and your son to comply with my research.”

“What makes you think, even for one second, that I would ever do that?”

“Because it will ensure that your precious soldiers will be safe.”

“And what about the others? The people?”

“They are not needed. They stay behind.”

“So you want us to leave them unprotected?”

“Yes. The fences serve a purpose. I’m not having thousands of primitives coming in here and disrupting the peace, planting ideas and spreading lies.”

“It’s the truth you’re afraid of, not lies.”

“Let’s agree to disagree,” he remarks lightly. “Now, are you going to cooperate or not?”

“I’ll die first.”

“Well, there is also that option.” He nods at Mason, and I flinch in anticipation of the blow, but nothing is forthcoming. Instead Mason leaves the room, only for a moment, returning with a heavy-duty chain coiled over his arm. As I watch, he loops it through a reinforced bracket mounted on the ceiling. I watch in horror, knowing exactly what is coming. The Vice-President leaves the room as Mason starts to unshackle me, obviously he is well aware that he would be my primary target if I managed to break free.

Despite my pitiful state, I am still sure I can take Mason, and as he unties the final chain on my left arm I push him aside with as much strength as I can muster and speed towards the door. As I pull it towards me, it is slammed shut and I turn in horror. It took me only a second to reach the door, and Mason moved just as quickly. It seems that Nina Lee was not the only soldier with the Power of Three that NUSA created. I sigh, dropping my head in defeat. In my starved, weakened state there is no way I can take on a soldier who has all of my abilities. Mason seems to realise this and he grins maliciously as he jerks me bodily across the room and wraps the heavy-duty chain around my wrists.

I brace myself as he pulls on the long end of the chain and I am hoisted into the air, my feet at least six inches off the ground. Mason secures the chain to another bracket on the wall, and then moves to the door, opening it and speaking in calm, quiet tones. The pain in my arms is only mild, but I know that if they leave me hanging like this it is going to get much, much worse. My legs are bleeding only slightly, but consistently. My healing ability is counteracting ordinary blood loss, but the actual wounds cannot heal as long as the blades are embedded in my skin and the pain is excruciating.

Kenneth Williams walks confidently back into the cell, his gaze moving from one end of the chain to the other. Seeming satisfied that I am suitably restrained, he turns the chair and takes a seat, one leg crossed over the other. Mason comes to stand behind me, just out of sight.

“Now, Miss Davis, are you going to instruct your soldiers to join the NUSA army or not?” I pretend to give this some serious thought and then I shake my head.

“Not.” The blow to my kidneys is unbearable and I sag weakly, trying to catch my breath. The shackles pull excruciatingly at my wrists as I hang limply, unable to tense my arms and take some of the tension from the chains.

“Rebecca,” Kenneth rises from the chair and walks slowly around the room, “I’m offering you a good life. You can be with Aidan and your son, you can live comfortably within the safety of the States. Think about it: electricity, running water, good food. Your Legion will be safe. I’ll even give you a position in my forces; you will command my army. You’ve certainly proved yourself up to the task, and I will not harm your son. All I want is to test his DNA.”

“You want to use him as a lab rat,” I growl through clenched teeth. My vision is starting to blur and I can feel the swelling in my lower back, Mason’s blow has damaged my kidney. Worryingly, the tingling feels less intense than usual.

“A very comfortable lab rat,” he corrects, coming to stand in front of me.

“What about our people? What about the others? I can’t just abandon them.”

“They are not your concern.” The underlying message is clear: our community will be abandoned or destroyed. It doesn’t really matter; without the Legion to protect and provide supplies, the chances are that they would not survive anyway. Without a thought to the consequences, I spit in the Vice-President’s face.

He gazes up at me disbelievingly for a second and then quickly composes himself, calmly pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face. Suddenly, without warning, he grabs the knife in my right thigh and twists it savagely, tearing through flesh and bone. I scream on and on and then, mercifully, he pulls the blade from my flesh with an awful squelching noise.

“I am offering you the world on a platter, you ungrateful bitch,” he snarls, raising the knife and placing the wicked point at the base of my neck, just between my collarbones.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” I ask, hoping for the first time that he will. I cannot take much more of this torture.

He pierces my flesh and I feel a trickle of blood run between my breasts, a small stain showing through my filthy white vest. Pushing slightly harder, he draws the knife down to my breastbone, slicing a deep gash about four inches long. I gasp in pain, willing myself to pass out – it would be a welcome reprieve. Kenneth calmly wipes the blade down with the handkerchief and when he looks up again, there is no remorse in his cold eyes.

“If you don’t agree, I’m going to track down your father, your son, your lover,” he states emotionlessly, “everyone you have ever cared about, and I am going to cause them more pain than you could ever imagine.”

Ignoring the terror that is threatening to overwhelm me, I grin maliciously. “I’m going to kill you, Kenneth. Mark my words, I’m going to kill you.” I barely feel the second blow to the other side of my lower back. Mason moves around to stand beside Kenneth.

“You too,” I add triumphantly. “You’re going to die, Mason. You have my word on that.”

Quick as a flash, my worst nightmare comes true, Mason steps forward and punches me in the abdomen, so hard that I cannot breathe. I feel an incredible shooting pain and something tearing inside me. I hang there, gasping for breath and, as I watch, Kenneth calmly plunges the knife back into my thigh, an inch below the first wound. There is a look of pure venom on his face. As I stare into his eyes I see death reflected there and I close my own. There is no hope. I feel a faint trickle between my legs and tears well up in my eyes, spilling over and coursing silently down my face.

Suddenly, as if in answer to my prayers, an alarm blares out through the building and Kenneth turns to Mason, yelling something I cannot hear over the sirens. I can hear the sounds of commotion beyond the door and I struggle against the exhaustion and pain to keep my head up, trying to figure out what is going on. Surprisingly, I do not feel anything – I am numb, physically and emotionally.

“You’re going to die,” I whisper to the two men, even though I know they cannot hear me.

The cramping in my lower abdomen is intensifying and the warm wetness between my legs is impossible to ignore. As I gaze down I see the dark stain on my jeans merging with the existing patches where the knives are impaled in my thighs. Kenneth and Mason flee from the room, for once forgetting to switch off the light and I simply hang there, helpless, watching my life’s blood pour from my body.

It feels like forever when I finally hear the sounds of fighting outside the door. When it is kicked open I choke out a hysterical sob, my face crumpling. Reed’s face is terrifying as he catches sight of me and as I watch, a NUSA soldier grabs him from behind, trying to pull him out of the room. Reed turns and without a moment’s hesitation, he grabs the man by the neck and rips out his throat. Literally. He crosses the room and, cursing under his breath, he unfastens the chains binding my hands, catching me as I drop to the floor. He lays me gently on the ground, his eyes taking in the damage.

“Hold on to me, Tiny,” his voice, in contrast to the murder in his eyes, is infinitely gentle. I grip his shoulders, bracing myself as he pulls the knives from my legs, and then I slump back to the ground. I cannot find the will to move and even if I could, my body is physically unable to. Reed quickly checks the rest of me, and then his gaze falls on the blood pooling on the floor between my legs. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“No!” The pain in that one little word is soul-destroying and I want to comfort him, but I can’t move.

“We have to get out of here . . . Oh my God!” Kwan’s words die on his lips as he catches sight of my broken body. I need to warn them about Mason. I have no idea where he is, but he is lethal. A large form bursts through the door, knocking Kwan aside, and Reed rises to meet him, his face a mask of pure unadulterated fury. Thankfully, it is Logan, who is strong, but nowhere near as deadly as Mason. Reed emits a snarl of rage as he launches himself at this new threat, tearing into Logan as though he is a paper-doll. It is all over in a few seconds by which time Kwan has made his way to my side.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Reed steps over me, scooping me up in his arms.

“We have to go now,” Kwan insists urgently, “or we’ll never fight our way out,” he speaks quietly, trying to calm the bloodlust and vengeance that is radiating from Reed’s tensed body. “We have to run, Reed, she hasn’t got much time.” He takes him by the shoulders and forces eye contact. Slowly, as though coming out of a trance, Reed nods. I cannot keep my eyes open a second longer and I go limp in his arms.

“Stay with me!” Reed yells shaking my lifeless body. I try to open my eyes but they are too heavy.

REED

Rebecca is so pale she looks like death. Not in the figurative sense, in the very real, terrifying sense.

“Why isn’t she healing?” I ask Henry, who is bending over her.

“Too much trauma; dehydration, starvation, there’s only so much a person can take. Even one with her remarkable abilities.” He takes a deep breath as if he wants to say something more, but instead he falls ominously silent.

If only I had got to her sooner. When Kwan and Michael arrived in Georgia looking for me, I was already deliberating coming back. I can’t stand being away from her, it’s almost painful. I can’t believe I wasn’t there when they attacked the headquarters; that the others let her go. My anger threatens to spill over again and I choke it back.

My gaze falls on the bloodied clothing that Henry removed only an hour ago. I haven’t been able to ask the question yet, but I need to know.

“Henry, the baby . . .”

“She lost the baby, Reed. I’m so sorry but there was nothing I could do.” He hasn’t even finished his sentence when I slam my fist into the brick wall, breaking a few knuckles. I barely feel it. Henry told me about the baby as we were leaving for Chicago. The news that Rebecca was pregnant drove me half-mad. Kwan and I had reached her as quickly as was humanly possible, using all our Gifted speed. The urgency to get to her was the only thing that had stopped me murdering every NUSA soldier we came across as we vaulted the fences and sped through the States. It was obvious she would be at Cook County; it is the only secure facility they have left. I killed at least fifty men at the prison when they tried to stand in my way. I can barely remember any of it, but the look on Kwan’s face will be hard to forget. He looked at me as though I was some kind of animal. I suppose, in retrospect, overcoming that number of people so quickly should be impossible. The barbaric, savage way that I attacked those men is nothing to what I will do to the people who physically did this to her. I slam my fist into the wall again.

“Reed, calm down.” Jeffrey Davis’s eyes are shining with sympathy and his own ill-disguised fear. I turn back to Rebecca, barely able to speak.

“Is she going to . . .” I can hear the broken uncertainty in my own voice and I hate it. I can’t lose her, I can’t. My hatred of NUSA and the men who did this to her is growing, spreading to every fibre of my being; a dark, festering blackness.

“I can’t say,” Henry answers honestly. “They starved her. Ten days without food and very little water. And she’s lost so much blood . . .” he trails off, obviously not wanting to incite me any further. “Her kidneys are damaged too, there’s blood in her urine.” My howl of despair is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Oh my God!” Aidan’s horror is palpable. “Rebecca!” He throws himself down beside her, grabbing at her hand and kissing it frantically. There is a moment of absolute silence and then I take two angry steps forward and pull him off her.

“Get off her!” I roar and there is a brief struggle as everyone tries to intervene. I exercise every ounce of restraint I have not to take action. I cannot hurt these people. They are important to her.

“You!” Aidan yells suddenly. “You did this, you son of a bitch! You left her when she needed you most!” This strikes a nerve because he is right. This is my fault. What he says next, however, tests my restraint.

“You’re a dirty low-life, McCoy! You knew all about us and you still got involved with her!”

“Me?” My tone is incredulous. “You didn’t even remember her until ten days ago! Who do you think has hurt her the most, Braveheart?” I am being scathingly condescending, but underneath it I can hear my own vulnerability and defensiveness.

“Enough, both of you!” Jeffrey’s voice rings with authority. “Aidan, we don’t know if she’s going to make it,” he addresses him. His resigned words send a chill through me.

“She has to,” he whimpers, “she has to be okay. I need to apologise; to explain. Oh God, what if she never wakes up?”

“We just have to pray for the best. Right now I think both of you should leave. The last thing Henry needs is you two at each other’s throats. Come back when you’ve calmed down,” he adds sympathetically.

I walk out of the room and stand just beyond the door. Aidan throws me one last dirty look before he turns on his heel and stalks outside. I hear them working over her inside and then it is quiet and still again.

“They’re going to kill each other,” Henry murmurs.

“They’re just grieving,” Jeffrey answers, and through the crack in the door I can see him holding Rebecca’s hand. “Tell me the truth, Henry,” he probes, and I can imagine his grey eyes, so similar to Rebecca’s, boring into Henry’s.

“Her organs are failing,” the doctor finally admits, and I am filled with dread, worse than anything I have ever felt. “I . . . I honestly don’t know, Jeffrey. I’m sorry.”

There is a long silence, broken by Rebecca’s father.

“How’s Sofia coping?” he asks and I selfishly wonder why he cares when Rebecca is dying.

“She’s okay,” Henry replies, taking Rebecca’s other hand and checking her pulse. “I think she always knew Aidan would remember eventually. I must say, I never realised how much he loves her.”

“They both do,” Jeffrey sighs. “God only knows what they’ll do if she doesn’t make it.”

“Or what they’ll do if she does,” Henry says and I cannot take any more, I push myself off the wall and streak out into the sunshine, running with no destination, no purpose, only the grief that threatens to overwhelm me when I think of the child I will never know, and how I will survive in a world without Rebecca.

END OF BOOK 2

The story continues in The Legend

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Melissa Delport graduated from the University of South Africa with a degree in English Literature and now lives with her husband and three children in Hillcrest, KwaZulu-Natal.

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Table of Contents

- THE LEGION
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- REED
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR