Deception (12 page)

“I didn’t try to rescue you.” His voice is as sharp as hers. “I was waiting for you. There’s a difference between being worried about someone you love and underestimating their skills.”

“Then make sure you know the difference between those you love and those you have no business worrying about.”

He lets go of her and won’t look at either of us.

Willow is still glaring at me. I shrug and turn away. I can’t understand the hidden depths lurking within their conversations, and I don’t want to. I have enough trouble navigating the hidden depths of my own words without worrying about anyone else’s. Taking a few steps away from them, I scan the survivors who huddle within the Wasteland in near silence.

Logan stands at the front of the crowd with Ian near his side. Drake, Nola, Jodi, and Elias are each seated at the front of a wagon, reins in hand. The donkeys harnessed to the wagons look supremely unconcerned with the entire situation. Frankie and Thom bring up the rear riding the two horses we managed to save. The goats and sheep are attached to a long rope that is held at either end by one of the girls who are usually busy flirting with Ian. Logan catches my eye, and the intensity of his gaze makes my knees unsteady. I’m not sure how to interpret his expression. It’s somewhere between I-thought-you-might-not-make-it-out-alive and I’m-about-to-kiss-you-senseless, and my cheeks feel warm as he slowly turns away and gives the order to move forward.

The recruits who attended sparring sessions fan out along the flanks of the group, weapons in hand. Quinn, Willow, and I join them. The line of people stretches out, a long, winding snake with four wagons nestled in its belly. Two wagons carry supplies. Two carry the elderly, those still recovering from the injuries they sustained in Baalboden’s fire, and the very young. Eloise is in one of those wagons, Melkin’s unborn baby sheltered inside her body. I choose a place along the western flank, as far from her wagon as I can get without joining Frankie and Thom at the rear.

Ahead of me, the front of the line disappears into the Wasteland, following the faint outline of an old road now overgrown with grass and underbrush. Somewhere at my back, the ruins of Baalboden crouch behind the Wall. I no longer wait to feel the grief of leaving it all behind me. The silence within me absorbs the pain and gives me nothing in return.

Dark green moss clings to tree trunks and belly-crawls across the ground. Drifts of black and silver ash hug the underbrush briefly, only to skim the ground again with the next gust of wind. Once upon a time, those ashes were someone’s home inside Baalboden. Someone’s family. Now they’re a formless monument to destruction, forever condemned to wander.

I touch the pouch hanging from my neck, the one Quinn gave me so I could carry some dirt from my father’s grave. I’ve since added ashes from my home in Baalboden, and I squeeze the soft leather as if by hanging on to the dirt and ashes I carry, I can somehow find a connection to the girl I used to be. But just like my final glimpse of Baalboden, the remains of my former life leave me hollow inside. Letting go of the pouch, I slide my fingers up until I grasp the delicate pendant Logan gave to me.

The promise he spoke when he fastened the chain around my neck echoes in my head:
I will always find you.
And he had. He’d built a tracking device into the battered copper cuff I wear around my arm. He’d blown up his cell in the Commander’s dungeon, escaped beneath the Wall, and trekked across dangerous territory in the Wasteland just to find me. And he’d pushed past the shock and the damage to show me that as long as we love each other, we haven’t lost everything.

I can’t admit to him that even with his promises, even with his love, I still feel lost.

Thunder cracks again, a slap of sound that vibrates through my bones like a physical blow. I glance at the treetops piercing the bruised sky and wonder how far we’ll get before the storm that’s brewing unleashes its fury on us.

Ahead of me, Quinn bends to pull a handful of graceful, fernlike leaves from a scrubby-looking bush. Folding them in half, he packs them against the wound in his thigh and then pushes the torn edge of his pant leg against it to keep them in place.

Willow steps to my side and says, “Achillea plant. To stop the bleeding.”

“If he’d been carrying a weapon, he might not be injured right now.”

Her dark eyes snap with sudden fury. “If he hadn’t met
you
, he wouldn’t be injured right now.”

“Excuse me?”

She whips her bow up to aim at my face, but I slap it aside with my Switch before she can position the arrow.

“Are you crazy?” I snap as people around us begin to stare. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Just seeing if your reactions are always poor, or if you only choke when it really counts.” She tucks the arrow back into her quiver and slings the bow over her shoulder without once breaking eye contact with me.

I match her glare with one of my own. “My reactions are fine.”

“You’re impulsive, and you freeze at the sight of blood. That’s a dangerous combination considering the kind of enemies we have.” She gestures toward the tunnel now many yards behind us.

“I’m not—”

“You ran toward an army with nothing but your knife so you could try to save the life of an old man you don’t even really care about.”

“Jeremiah is one of ours.” My voice shakes. “Maybe
you
could leave him behind, but I can’t.”

The wind whips her silver ear cuff, tugging at the black feather that brushes her shoulders. She keeps talking like I haven’t said a word. “And then you hesitated. You wounded a man. You had the opportunity to shove him into the soldiers behind him and run for cover, but as soon as his blood hit your hands, you froze, and my brother had to rescue you. Again.”

The angry words I want to fling at her shrivel up, and I look away. She isn’t finished.

“I don’t get it. The Rachel I first met would’ve taken out that man and the two beside him without even flinching. Now you rush into danger with no escape plan. No spine for doing what it takes to win. What happened?”

Anger is a sudden brilliant fire warming the emptiness inside of me. Turning, I spit my words in her face. “
What happened?
You were there for most of it. My city is destroyed. Most of the people I knew are dead.” I lean closer. “Melkin is dead. My father is
dead
.”

The silence within me shivers as my words scrape against it. I imagine cracks across its surface, the terrible depths of grief and guilt buried beneath it a yawning mouth of unending darkness. I’m not ready to dive in. Not ready to be swept under when I have no safety rope to keep me tethered to my sanity.

Willow watches me, a challenge in her eyes. “Except for Quinn, all of the people I knew are lost to me now. And my father is dead, too. You don’t see me hesitating when it comes to survival.”

Her words sting, but I take a deep breath and try to sound calm. “I didn’t know about your dad. I’m sorry he died.”

“I’m not,” she says. The coldness in her voice makes me wrap my cloak tighter around myself. “But that isn’t the point. You need to figure yourself out, Rachel. Either you’re going to help us fight our battles no matter what it takes, or you need to go ride in a wagon with the elderly.”

“You never cared about my choices before. Why start now?”

“Because until I saw my brother shield you with his body, I had no idea your actions might hurt the one person I still love.” She grips her bow with bloodless fingers. “He’s saved you twice now. And this time it hurt him.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved. I don’t need him to protect me.”

“Try telling
him
. I can’t convince him that you aren’t his responsibility. So I’m talking to you instead.” She leans closer. “Stop deliberately putting yourself in danger unless you’re sure you won’t choke. Start paying attention. You lost people you loved. Others did too. You killed a man. Others have too. You don’t have the luxury of losing your edge, Rachel, because if you do anything—
anything
—that costs my brother his life, I will make you pay for it.”

Turning on her heel, she grabs a low-hanging branch and vaults into the closest tree as the skies split wide open and streams of icy gray water plummet to the ground.

I turn my back on the ruins of Baalboden one final time, and start walking.

Chapter Thirteen

LOGAN

I
an walks beside me as I lead the group toward what I’m hoping will be a usable campsite for the night. According to Jeremiah, we have only another hour or so to walk before we get to a large rock that will shelter us from at least some of the elements.

Rain is a merciless companion as we struggle through the Wasteland. It pools on our shoulders, our hoods, and our boots, chilling us to the bone. It flattens the grass with quick-moving streams of mud and lashes stray twigs and leaves from the trees above us. It drastically reduces visibility.

It’s the best travel companion I could’ve hoped for.

Highwaymen won’t brave the storm, so we’re safe from them for the moment. And the sudden streams that make walking difficult also wipe the land clean behind us, destroying all evidence of our passage. Unless the Commander is able to track our wristmark signals, he won’t know which way we went once we reached the Wasteland.

We’ve traveled hard for most of the day and have seen no sign of the army at our backs. Even the rain can’t dampen the relief I feel. A relief I see echoed on most of the faces around me. We’re free of the Commander. Free of the threat of Rowansmark coming after us.

For the first time in three weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

It’s a temporary reprieve. Once the storm passes, the water that wipes our tracks away will become mud that holds the proof of our journey in sharp relief. We have to put as much distance between us and our starting point as possible before then.

A tree in front of me shakes gently, and Quinn drops from a low branch and walks toward me. He’s limping.

“Tree leaping instead of walking?” Ian asks beside me.

Quinn shrugs. “It’s how I was trained to travel. Leaves fewer signs for a tracker to follow and offers better visibility. Even in the rain.” He pulls a slim sheaf of papers from beneath his tunic and thrusts them at me. “Jeremiah’s map. He says the terrain gets tricky in the next two hundred yards or so and wanted you to have this.”

I roll up the papers and tuck them into an inner cloak pocket where they’ll remain dry. “What happened to your leg?”

“Got sliced by a sword.”

“How deep?”

He waves his hand in the air as if swatting away any concern I might feel. “It’s superficial. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“What happened?”

“Jeremiah was in the hall when Carrington broke down the compound’s door. Rachel went to rescue him. Willow and I helped.”

“You’d be better able to protect yourself if you carried a sword of your own.”

“That’s not an option.”

I swipe rain out of my eyes and look at him. His dark hair is plastered to his head, and his shoulders are hunched against the downpour, but his eyes are full of resolve.

“Do you need to ride in a wagon until the leg heals?”

He raises a brow. “I think you just insulted my manhood.”

I smile. “I think you’re right. Sorry about that.”

Before he can leave, I reach out and clasp his shoulder. “Thank you. For bringing the map and for helping Rachel. Both with Jeremiah and with the Commander.”

He holds my gaze for a moment and then says, “Happy to help.”

“I hope you mean that, because I need to ask you for a favor. It’s about Rachel.” I pause, but I can’t think of any way to ask for help protecting her that doesn’t make it sound like I think less of her skills. I don’t. I respect her tremendously. I also understand her, which means I know without a doubt that if the Commander is within reach again, every cautious word I’ve spoken, every careful plan we’ve constructed, will turn to ash in the flames of her need for vengeance.

“I’m always kept busy now,” I say, gesturing toward the crowd behind us. “And while Rachel is very capable of taking care of herself in a fight, if the Commander shows up again . . . he hurt her.” I push the memory of Rachel, broken and silent after Oliver’s death, away from me. “If he’s near her, I don’t know what she might do.”

“I know what she’ll do,” Ian says, grudging admiration in his voice. “She’ll kill him. Probably while extracting as much pain from him as she can. You have to admire that kind of dedication.”

“And what would be left of her when she finished?” Quinn asks. Ian looks away, and Quinn locks eyes with me. “She won’t sacrifice herself on my watch.”

“Thank you.” The words are inadequate, but they’re all I have.

As Quinn hoists himself into the closest tree again, Ian asks, “What’s his story?”

“What do you mean?” I glance at the crowd behind me, their chins tucked down and their cloaks clutched close to their throats as they trudge through the rain. I can’t see Rachel, though I know she’s near the back of the line. The people walk slowly, mud sucking at their boots, and I bite back a surge of impatience. I want to prod everyone to move faster. To ignore the discomfort and do what it takes to survive.