Legacy (Alliance Book 3) (23 page)

He wanted to say something to him, something to make him believe that they would get out of this alive, but couldn’t find the words, none that wouldn’t feel hollow. But the silence between them was putting him on edge.

“Tell me about Riley as a kid. He never talks about it much, at all, really. I can’t even picture him as a kid, the way he is now. What was he like?” Brody smiled up at him, and then closed his eyes, not saying anything for a little while, and finally he talked, his face wistful as he remembered.

He told him about little-kid Riley, chubby cheeked and long-haired, constantly chasing bugs of all kinds, and how he thought he was making him a great gift when he caught that dragonfly for him and put it on a pin, only Riley cried when he saw it and wouldn’t talk to him for months after that. And how he caught him talking to the tiny, soft, pale-green buds on a tree in Waller one Spring, and Riley got all embarrassed about it. Told him about Samson and how he’d knock Riley to the floor when he’d walk him home after school, his tail going all crazy, as he licked his face, paws on his shoulders, holding him down in this strange hug, and Riley laughing and squirming under him, and then his father would get mad at him for making all that noise and scream at him or hit him.

And reluctantly, he told him about Riley’s father beating him with that belt the way he did, even when he was just a tiny kid, and then later beating him for all kinds of stuff Brody got him into at school, and how he hated his father for it, and that he remembers feeling happy when his father was finally gone, only he couldn’t ever tell Riley that, couldn’t hurt him like that....

He walked over to him and crouched next to him, looking at his face, his eyes still closed. He seemed sad remembering this now, and he felt guilty for making him do it. “It’s all right, Brody... you don’t need to keep going,” he whispered.

Brody was silent for a long time, and finally he looked at him, and his voice was shaky when he talked again. “I pushed him away, Lancer. When all that happened with my parents, the footage, everybody hating me the way they did, I hated myself for it too, couldn’t help it. I was so ashamed then, I just wanted everybody to leave me alone, wanted to run away, only I couldn’t yet, not until the school ended, and my uncle, Andy.... He is the one who raised me after my parents were gone, likely the only person in my family who ever loved me... he was dying from cancer, and I thought I could convince him to go outside of Waller to get help, thought he’d listen to me, only he never did. But I couldn’t run with him like that, not until I knew for sure. I went to Riley after they broadcast the footage of Max in school. Trina broke up with me after that, and nobody else would even look at me. Riley skipped school that day of all days, so he didn’t know, didn’t see any of it.” Brody put his head down for a beat, breathing hard.

“Anyway... I went to Riley because I needed to make him angry at me so he’d walk away, the way everyone else did, only he wouldn’t do it. I lashed out at him in the worst way, and he was so hurt by what I said to him, but he still wouldn’t bloody leave, so I had to do it for him. I made sure he never saw me in school or at Andy’s after that, only Riley kept trying to get to me. He would come by every single day looking for me. It broke Andy’s heart that I wouldn’t talk to him, and then Andy got worse and I was too much of a coward to watch him die, so I ran, not even saying goodbye to anybody.

“I didn’t see him for three years after that, until he ran out to me and my crew in the woods like that, and the first thing I did to my best friend after all that time was put a gun to his head, and make him kneel”— he shook his head, hiding his eyes now—“I don’t know how he’s managed to forgive me for all of it. It’s just how he is, how he’s always been. He is just so unbearably, annoyingly decent, Lancer,” and he laughed, a small, humorless laugh.

He jumped at the sound of the door opening, Fuller grinning at him. He was wearing his parade whites again, and it seemed like a lousy omen. “I hate to interrupt this happy reunion, but I’m afraid I have to. You were both convicted of treason just now, and the Council left me in charge of deciding your sentences. I’ve already decided Brody’s, of course. He will be whipped to death over the course of however many days it takes, though I give it three at the most. As for you, Maxton, you get to choose your own fate. Firing squad, which would personally be my choice, or a whipping post next to Brody’s, if you’re feeling especially masochistic.... Maybe you can keep my son from embarrassing himself. I need your answer, Maxton.”

He straightened, looking into the man’s cold eyes. “I’ll take whatever sentence you are willing to impose on your son, Fuller,” he said quietly, and watched Fuller’s lips thin into a slow smile. “You are becoming predictable, Maxton, boringly predictable. The guards will escort you out in one hour,” and he was gone.

Brody stood up, looking at him apologetically. “I am sorry for this, Lancer. You shouldn’t be paying for my stupidity,” and he put his head down, face flushed.

He threw his banded hands over the kid’s head and hugged him, not saying anything, holding him, and finally whispered as quietly as he could, “We just need to get through today, Brody. Do what you have to when we get out there. Scream if you need to, if it’ll make it easier for you, it doesn’t matter.... I swear I won’t think any less of you. I just need you to survive this.”

They sat leaning against the wall not talking after that, waiting. Six guards came to get them, guns on them, motioning for them to move. They walked in front of the guards, the elevator taking them to street level. He could see soldiers running towards some spot ahead of them. Their guards were silent, not even talking to each other. It seemed a habit they all had here—nobody talked much. He felt a barrel of a gun between his shoulder blades and it amused him that they thought there was any chance he could run or hurt any of them when this whole place was swarming with soldiers. He finally saw a large crowd of people, mostly in uniform, but there were women, too, standing in a semicircle just ahead of them. They were facing what looked like a quickly put together stage, all wooden, with two posts on it, like the ones in Copley. He glanced at Brody, and noted with surprise how calm his face was, no emotion in it at all. And he knew that the kid wouldn’t make it easier on himself, no matter what it cost him; that he wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

The guards unlocked their bands and tied their hands to the restraints on the posts so they were facing each other. He was looking at Brody’s face, the posts at an angle to the audience, he guessed so they could see their faces, not just their backs. Fuller was nothing if not meticulous about his entertainment, it seemed. He scanned the rows of people for Fuller’s white uniform, but couldn’t see him anywhere. He wondered briefly what they would use on them, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t break any ribs, in case they could run tomorrow. Brody’s eyes were on him, still calm, gold flecks catching in the sun, reminding him of Soren now more than ever. He nodded to him softly and whispered the one word he needed him to pay attention to, despite his hatred for his father—“Survive.”

Fuller stepped out from behind the line of his personal guards and made his way to the stage. He faced the crowd, which was surprisingly large now and growing. “These two soldiers were convicted of treason two hours ago. A crime punishable by death. The manner of said punishment was left to me, as the highest ranking military official in Crylo. But first things first. The one on the left happens to be my son. Take a good look at him. He is a rebel, working to overthrow the Alliance. My own son. We can show no mercy to traitors, even if they share our blood. Let this be a lesson to all of you. Brody Fuller and Lancer Maxton will be whipped at the same time every day until they expire either at these posts or from their wounds in the cell. Today, we’ll start off with thirty, and I will administer the sentence to my son. Captain Corliss will deliver the sentence to Maxton.”

He watched him walk over to where Brody was, and saw a tall man approach on his side, a smirk on his face. Fuller pulled out a small silver handle from his belt and flicked a button on it, a razor sharp piece of metal extending from it with a metallic twang. Hassinger’s weapon of choice. It’s as if every sadist in the bloody Alliance went to the same how to torture class at their academies. They wouldn’t be able to survive more than a few days of this, not without being able to fix their wounds, and he hoped not for the first time that whatever Dyrig was doing would work.

He closed his eyes after the first of Fuller’s strikes landed on Brody, couldn’t bear to look at the kid’s face. He hardly felt much on his own back anymore. It was mostly scar tissue. He counted silently to himself, afraid to look at Brody, but felt he had to after a while, the kid not making any noise at all. Brody stood there the way he last saw him, eyes open, but much too dark, looking somewhere past him, his face eerily still. Twenty six. He could see blood on the floor behind him, blood dripping from Fuller’s whip, some of it splattered on his white uniform, and his face was full of unguarded hatred. Twenty nine. Fuller seemed furious, swinging the whip with all he had for the last strike, Brody inhaling sharply when it landed, eyes darting down for just a flash, and then it was over.

Fuller walked over to his son, “You won’t survive tomorrow, I promise you,” he spat at him, threw the whip on the stage and walked away without a glance or another word.

They didn’t say anything to each other for the entire walk back to their cell, and for a little while after that. He rushed to the bucket of water, soaking pieces of Brody’s shirt in it and then gently put the wet rags over the kid’s wounds, squeezing the cold water out onto his back, trying to stem the bleeding and take at least some of the pain away. Brody let him do all of it, silently, standing in front of him like a statue, nothing moving on him at all, and then insisted on helping him, though he didn’t feel any pain now, he just felt numb.

“He’ll kill me tomorrow, Lancer, he’ll find a way to do it. Don’t let them kill you so easily, if our guys don’t make it by then. Don’t let him win,” a strained whisper, and then he walked slowly, carefully to his cot and lay down on it, face first, banded hands in front of his head, and closed his eyes. He felt the kid was right, that Fuller would find a way to do it tomorrow. That he would find a way to break him or kill him then, and Brody wouldn’t let him break him for anything. He didn’t blame him for it either. It wasn’t just pride for him. In some strange way, as much as he hated his father, he wanted to prove him wrong....

He was surprised to find a thermos of coffee and two pieces of toast on a tray by the door when he woke up. Fuller wanted them awake enough for the occasion then. They had a few hours yet by the looks of it, and he hoped Brody wasn’t losing blood any more. He looked over at him, a cautious, tentative look, and smiled. The kid was asleep, nothing bleeding on him, the slashes on his back looking much better than he thought they would, all but the one.

He grabbed the tray and walked over to him, crouching by his head. “Wake up, Brody. We got us some breakfast.”

Brody grunted, and he had to tell him to be careful getting up. His pupils were large, in pain large, but he didn’t wince or give any indication that he was hurting. He reached for the thermos and took a few gulps, smiling now. The toast he didn’t touch, and he didn’t want to force him.

“Turn around, Lancer. I know you examined me plenty while I was out.” He stood up and turned his back to the kid, still feeling oddly self-conscious about his old scars.

Brody cursed, and he was pale when he faced him again. “What is it?” The kid walked over to the bucket without a word, soaked a rag in it and went to work on his back, not saying anything for a while.

“You are still bleeding,” Brody finally whispered, and he made him lie down on the cot, and kept pressing the wet cloth to his back hard enough to hurt. He had to let him. Blood loss was the only thing that truly worried him today. He couldn’t afford to pass out in the middle of it, not if they had any chance of running. He must have dozed off after a while, because he didn’t hear the door open and the guards were already inside, telling them that it was time. They were the same six men from yesterday, but they didn’t seem angry at them now, and they didn’t shove the barrels of their guns into their backs. He smiled to himself, thinking just how easy it might be to turn these people against Fuller, even without the neuros.

The walk took longer today, the guards not rushing them, and there weren’t nearly as many people gathered at the stage as there were yesterday. He scanned the crowd and had to bite back a smile when he spotted Trelix and Loren standing two rows back, Loren giving him one quick nod. He hoped Brody saw them too, hoped the kid knew that they would be all right after all.

Fuller’s uniform was a pristine white, not a drop of his son’s blood on it, and he smiled at Brody when the guard tied his hands to the restraints. He so desperately wanted to make this man pay for this, for each satisfied smile, each hurtful word, for the pleasure he derived from seeing his son’s back torn up like that by his own hand. He smiled softly at Brody and nodded to him, but the kid looked at him blankly, his face serene, guarded.

Fuller had his whip out, and the same man who whipped him yesterday was waiting at his side, whip at the ready. “I don’t like repeating myself. Any of you who missed this from yesterday, I am told there are recordings that were pushed to everyone’s screens. Today, we are increasing the number of lashes for these traitors to forty. I doubt we’ll be here again tomorrow,” and with that he nodded to the captain and raised his whip. He couldn’t close his eyes now, so he saw Brody blink when he was hit, and then saw the whip drop out of Fuller’s hand, clanking loudly on the stage, the look of surprise and then horror on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” The man screamed, facing his soldiers, who all had their guns trained on him, and then the guards that brought them here were freeing their hands and helping them off the stage. Fuller was surrounded by his own personal guard, screaming threats at them as they tied his hands behind his back and then marched him down the street, a few dozen soldiers following. Loren and Trelix finally dismissed the guards who flanked Fuller and it was just Fuller and a dozen soldiers with them for a while, and then Loren let the other soldiers go as well. Fuller was still screaming obscenities at everybody who was near him, threatening to kill them, when they got to the flier. Loren finally hit him across the face with the butt of his gun, and he shut up.