Enemy Inside (Defectors Trilogy) (8 page)

He shook his head in disapproval. “You should have gone with them.
You
could have gone through the checkpoint.”

“I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, visualizing the route we needed to take to the old tunnel. Squinting through the darkness, I could see a street sign still standing at the end of the collapsed block. I recognized the name. We were on the right track.

Grabbing Amory’s hand, I pulled him along through the alleyway, picking my way between chunks of blasted concrete and ribbons of twisted steel. He gripped my hand tightly, and I felt a tingle of warmth spread from my fingertips up my arm. Nothing could change the way he made me feel.

As we reached the corner, I stepped out into the street and looked around to check for rovers. I didn’t see any. If we stuck to side streets, it might be possible to avoid them altogether. We moved cautiously down the block, ears piqued for any sound that we were being followed and scanning the shadowed street corners for hidden rovers.
 

“So, you really don’t remember anything except the simulations?” I whispered.

Amory didn’t answer right away.
 

His pained expression made me wish instantly I hadn’t said anything.
 

When he spoke, his words came slowly. “I mean, I remember the adjustments,” he said.

I didn’t ask what “adjustments” were.

“They made me take a pill. I didn’t like it. I remember trying to leave . . . the pain. It was awful because the way that . . . that
thing
made me feel, I would rather have stayed than fight it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.
I’m
sorry. I could have hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I would have if Greyson hadn’t been there,” he muttered. His voice was bitter, steeped in self-loathing.

We fell silent, and I began to feel slightly awkward. We weren’t touching anymore, and I wondered if maybe things
had
changed between us. Something was off about the way he spoke. His voice was stiff and formal.
 

“You had to know I would come get you out,” I said. “You had to know I would try.”

He gave me an odd sideways look. “I kind of hoped you wouldn’t. When they took me, I really hoped you would just . . . leave it alone.”

“What?”

I grabbed his arm, jerking him around to face me. When our eyes met, there was a look of frustration there. “You should have left me, Haven.”

His words felt like a slap. After I had risked everything and persuaded Godfrey and Greyson and Logan to put their lives in danger, he would have preferred me to leave him with the PMC.
 

Things definitely
had
changed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him watching me, but I avoided his gaze. He seemed confused. That was nothing compared to how I felt.

Hot tears stinging in my eyes, I wiped them away with the scratchy sleeve of my PMC uniform.

It didn’t make sense. After everything on the farm and his kiss on the hill, I knew Amory had feelings for me. But that was before he was captured. Now he probably resented me for those weeks of imprisonment and torture. After all, it was my fault we were in Sector X that day to begin with. Or maybe he just wasn’t capable of feeling that way after everything he’d been through.
 

I couldn’t blame him.

I fixed my eyes on the street, blinking back tears and forcing myself to concentrate instead of forming a response that would make it hurt even more.

As we made our way along the street Godfrey had marked on the map, I knew we had to be getting close. We’d been walking for over an hour, cutting through crumbled alleyways, and I was starting to get cold. The adrenaline had worn off, and now I could feel the frigid wind biting through the fabric of the PMC uniform.
 

I knew Amory had to be cold, too — he was wearing thin cotton pants and Greyson’s light jacket — but I wouldn’t look at him. After the initial shock of his comment, I felt only sadness and humiliation. It was foolish, given our situation, to be worried about the way Amory felt about me, but it was more than that. Maybe his time in Isador had fundamentally changed him.

We passed more demolished streets lined with crushed cars, trash, and rubble. It was hard to believe what it had once looked like. The damage was so severe that it was impossible to tell where one building ended and the other began.

Finally, the destruction gave way to a small, crumbling road leading to the highway. There were no working streetlights, and the guardrails were warped and rusted from years of neglect. We were getting close. My limbs thrummed with the anticipation of freedom. Once we got out of Sector X, everything would be fine. At least that was what I told myself to keep my feet moving.

We followed the road to a derelict overpass covered in a washed-out rainbow of graffiti. This was the point on the map Godfrey had marked. I squinted, searching frantically for the tunnel.
 

Between the darkness and my fatigue, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. There was not a tunnel, but rather a solid wall half-hidden behind a thicket of overgrown tree branches. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the crumbling stone entrance to the tunnel was sealed with bricks.
 

My heart sank. We stood there, taking it all in, and I felt the prickle of tears in my throat once again.
 

How could Godfrey have sent us here? How could he have made such a huge mistake?
The faded neon profanities told me the tunnel had been sealed long before the PMC evacuated Manhattan. It had been our only option for escape.

The Sector X Expressway was destroyed in the riots, and now the only way in or out of the city was through the main bridge. We were trapped here.

The scream of a siren broke through my misery. I looked up to see a PMC cruiser on the overpass. Whoever was inside had spotted us. They knew I had helped Amory escape.

“Run!” I yelled.

We tore back through the demolished alley the way we came, crisscrossing through the streets. I quickly lost track of where we were. All I could think was to make it as difficult as possible for them to find us.

I could still hear the siren, and I was reminded of running from the PMC with Greyson.
 

I forced my mind elsewhere. It couldn’t be like that again. I was stronger now — smarter. I wouldn’t let them take Amory.

Snow was beginning to fall, and it stuck to my face and eyelashes. I blinked away the heavy flakes, not feeling the cold anymore.

It was difficult to tell where the PMC cruiser was. I could still hear the wail of the siren, but the sound reverberated off the rubble and sounded strangely far away.
 

Stumbling across the street, I glanced over my shoulder for Amory, but he was frozen on the corner, staring upward. I followed his gaze to a burnt-out stoplight. Mounted on top, its beady black dome swiveling onto Amory, was an ID rover.

Amory fell to his knees in the snow, holding his head in his hands and trying to stifle his cries of pain. I ran over to him. Panic pounded through my veins, clouding my judgment.
 

His face was screwed up with pain again, but this time, the pain seemed to have progressed more quickly. Learning of his escape, the PMC had increased the intensity of the signal.

“Amory,” I whimpered. “Get up. You have to move. If we get you out of range, the pain will stop.”

Folding in on himself, Amory hid his face in his hands. I knew he didn’t want me to see the tears there. He was rocking back and forth, shaking and struggling for air as if he were having an asthma attack.

Along the back of his neck, an angry red patch like a burn mark had appeared.

Summoning every ounce of strength I had, I grasped him beneath the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. His legs were shaky, so I wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him. I tried pulling him across the street away from the rover, but he yelled and swung back at me, and I knew there must be another in range. I changed direction down the street. He was struggling in earnest now, but we couldn’t go back.

I could hear the sirens approaching. They were definitely closer now. I felt trapped — unable to move in any direction without causing Amory more pain. He was fully doubled over, clutching his head between his hands.
 

There was only one way to go: through the range of the ID rover.
 

Praying there weren’t any more rovers on the other side, I pulled Amory through the snow. He was resisting, dragging his heels as I yanked him toward the source of the frequency, and I had to summon all my strength to fight against him. My back screamed in agony, and my arms ached from holding him up, but I knew if I released him, he would collapse.
 

I stumbled, and his wet cheek brushed against mine.
 

No. They would not get us.
 

Amory made a choking sound as we crossed under the rover, and I kept my eyes straight forward. I couldn’t look at the pain on his face. He dry heaved again, and his muscles twitched. For a horrible moment, I thought he was having a seizure, but I did not stop.
 

The sirens were blaring now. There was no time.

I squinted desperately to the next intersection, but I couldn’t tell if there was another rover. As I pulled Amory along, his cries of pain grew farther apart, but he was still shaking and unsteady as we plowed through the fresh dusting of snow. With the weight of Amory, the strap of my rifle cut into my shoulder painfully. It was useless now; I could not shoot and hold him.

Looking over my shoulder, I could see the lights from the PMC cruiser bouncing off the building behind us. They would turn the corner soon. We could not outrun them.

Amory’s head went limp, and then his entire body collapsed. I staggered, bent double under the sudden dead weight.
 

He had passed out.
 

Legs shaking, I struggled to keep him upright, but I was fighting a losing battle. He was much too heavy.

Gasping for air, I stumbled into the shadows with him. There were no buildings for us to hide in — only great heaps of rubble and ash and splintered wood. It was our only option left, and I could not carry him anymore.

As gently as I could, I dropped Amory into the snow. He fell limp into a pile of crumbled brick and insulation. I looked around desperately for something — anything — to cover us. I spotted a ripped piece of cardboard. It was wet with snow, but it was big. I threw myself down on the ground and curled up around Amory, pulling the piece of cardboard over our heads and rolling us into the rubble.

The sirens were deafening now. They shattered the peace of the snow and the darkness as the cruiser came barreling down the street. I knew my boots were exposed, but the part of my pant leg that showed blended in with the snow. I held still, breathing loudly into Amory’s chest.
 

The cruiser slowed to a crawl, and I could feel the officers’ eyes scraping the shadows, looking for a flash of white — anything to betray our location. The tires crunched loudly through the snow, and I tried to quiet my labored breathing. Surely it was loud enough for every PMC officer in the vicinity to hear.

But the cruiser moved on, and the sound of the siren faded into the destroyed buildings. I lay still, not daring to move. There were probably others. Now that they knew whom Amory had escaped with, every PMC officer in the city would have my picture from the cameras at Isador.

My rifle was cutting into my back. I rolled over, and Amory gasped, his chest heaving against my cheek. He thrashed around under the sheet of cardboard, muscles tensed, but I pulled him tightly against me.

“Shhh.”

“What’s going on?” Amory’s voice was panicked, and I felt a twinge of guilt that he had to wake up this way. After his time with the PMC, I knew it must be terrifying.

“Lie still,” I whispered.

“Are they gone?”

“Yeah. But there could be others.”

Amory’s thin T-shirt was damp with cold sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and I was suddenly very aware that every part of my body was pressed against his. I felt the heat rising up my face and was grateful he could not see.
 

After a while, I couldn’t hear the sirens anymore. The night was completely still.

Cautiously, I lifted the cardboard off my head and peered around. Nothing.
 

I sat up and pushed the bits of rubble off us. Amory pulled himself into a seated position. He was shivering.
 

“Come on,” I said. “We have to get to the safe house.”

I visualized Godfrey’s map. I knew we were still several blocks away. I didn’t want to cut across the main roads and risk another rover, so we made our way slowly around the perimeter of our route until I found the street we were supposed to take.

Amory was silent as we traipsed through the snow. I worried his last episode had taken a toll on him, but I didn’t want to ask. Running from the PMC, it was easy to forget that he resented me for breaking him out and making him a fugitive again. But now that it was quiet, the distance between us seemed to grow.

Sneaking a glance in his direction, I could see he was shaking from the cold, and his lips were turning blue. He had his hands tucked inside Greyson’s thin jacket.

“We’re getting close,” I muttered.

He nodded but did not look at me.

The trip back in the direction we came seemed twice as long as the journey to the tunnel. Then, I had felt relieved that Amory was all right and hopeful that we would escape Sector X. Now, we had no prospect of leaving, and it was becoming very clear that Amory was
not
all right.

I knew we were almost to the safe house when buildings began to rise from the rubble. I should have felt reassured to have more cover from the eyes of patrolling PMC officers, but instead, the rising apartments and offices made me feel boxed in and trapped like a wild animal. Any escaped carriers that had survived the riots could be hiding in the shadows. My hands were freezing where they gripped the cold metal of my rifle, but I was on high alert and ready to shoot anyone or anything that posed a threat.