Metaltown (20 page)

No, she would just keep going. Keep going until the Tri-City was so far behind her, she couldn't even remember what it looked like. She would be fine on her own. She was strong. She
would be
strong. Anywhere was better than her own house.

A figure in the road caught her attention and she slammed on the brakes, swerving across the empty lanes. She was thrown into the side window. Spun and spun until her stomach was in her throat and she was sick with dizziness. The rear of the car hit the median with a metallic crunch. The back window shattered, sending a blast of cold air into the compartment.

And then everything went still.

She was shaking. Every part of her. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think.

Someone came running at the window. Through the thin glass she heard the footsteps. Terrified, she searched for something she might use to defend herself. She hadn't brought a defuser. She didn't have anything.
Glass,
she thought. She was just reaching over the seat to grab a shard of the broken window when the driver's door was yanked open.

A startled cry burst from her throat.

“Lena?”

She spun toward the familiar voice. In the moonlight she could see his face, the shadows on his jaw, the surprise in his eyes. The thin scar cutting through one eyebrow. For a fraction of a moment she wondered what he was doing there, and then realized she didn't care. Her hands covered her face and she screamed silently, rocking back and forth, yielding to the twisting inside of her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. She felt his hand on her back, sliding down to her hip. Then another on her ankles, moving them from the floorboards. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't find her Hampton mask to hide beneath. Every jagged, raw emotion spilled from her, uncontained, and trying to collect the pieces just made her feel more fractured.

“Okay,” she heard him say, voice soft. “Come on.” He slipped one arm under her knees, and the other behind her back. She felt her body shift beyond her control, and then her cheek was against his shoulder, and he was lifting her to the front of the car.

He sat her on the hood, where she curled into a ball, knees against her chest, hands gripping her shins. The cold air wedged itself between them, and when she looked up she saw he was standing a few paces back, arms crossed over his chest. Her whole body was quaking so hard he seemed to vibrate, but she couldn't stop it.

“What are you doing here?” She forced herself to breathe, the shuddered breath ice cold in her throat.

“Dodging cars,” he said with a frown. “Makes it harder when they don't use their headlights.”

She knew she'd missed something.

“I've never driven before,” she said.

“You don't say.”

She realized how insane she must have appeared. It disgusted her, how little pride she had. She fixed her gloves and slid down the front of the hood to stand.

As if he'd been waiting for this, he shot forward, gripping her elbows. “You should sit awhile. You're shaking.”

The flush crept up her cheeks. Gradually, he released her arms, and she found he was right—she nearly tipped over. He didn't reach for her again; he stayed where he was, pulling his coat tighter across his chest.

“What are
you
doing here?” he asked.

“It's not been the best day.” She glanced up at him.

He pulled off his hat and scratched his head, then replaced it. “No, it hasn't.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering, though now from the cold. She probably looked ridiculous, blotchy cheeks and smeared makeup, but she didn't care. He didn't seem to either.

Reaching around her, he picked something up off the hood of the car where she'd just been sitting. His scarf. It must have slipped off her lap when he'd set her there. He gave a small smile as he held it out for her, and she hesitated before taking it, unsure if she should put it on, and she hesitated before taking it, unsure if she should put it on.

“Thanks. Again,” she said, laughing once awkwardly, and then wincing because she sounded so stupid. The doll within fell to the pavement, but before she could reach it Colin had stooped beside her. Bent low, with the shards of glass reflecting the moon like diamonds, they found themselves face to face. His gaze caught hers, deep and steady, and though her breathing slowed her heart beat harder.

“Where'd you get this?” he asked.

“Oh.” She remembered herself then, and grabbed the rope toy, tucking it into her coat pocket. “My … um … nanny made it for me. When I was little.”

“Ah.”

“No witty remark?” she huffed. “No comment about the poor little rich girl and her nanny?”

“I guess I'm fresh out.” His lips straightened, as if he were trying not to smile. “Stick around, though, and I'm sure I can come up with something.”

A laugh bubbled up, sealing the ache beneath her collarbone. Less than an hour ago, her father had struck her, and here was this Metaltown boy who didn't even know her, trying to make her feel better.

She looked back at the small, wrecked car. The tire that was pressed against the median had popped. The rim rested directly on the ground. She couldn't even run away without making a mess of things.

He cleared his throat.

“Your family's probably wondering where you are,” he said. “I can take you somewhere to call them. Doesn't look like you're going anywhere in this.” He kicked the deflated tire.

“I can't go back,” she whispered.

The truth settled over both of them, cruel and cold as the Metaltown night.

He stepped closer, making her heart trip in her chest. “Come with me, then.”

“I…” She frowned. Could she go with him? What would her father say about
that
? Realizing it didn't matter, that she didn't care, she made her decision. “Okay.”

“It's a walk,” he said. “Sure you can handle it in your poor little rich girl shoes?”

She smiled down at them. “I think I can manage.”

 

19

COLIN

By the time they had reached the end of the beltway, Colin had herded Lena to the opposite side of the street. Every step he had taken closer to her, she'd moved subtly away, like the wrong end of a magnet. The game amused him, though he doubted she even knew they were playing.

Stealing a glance in her direction, he found her chin buried in his scarf, and her gloved hands deep in her coat pockets. She'd stopped trying to fix her hair, and it hung loosely over her shoulders and back. Not that anyone cared, but he thought it looked better that way.

He didn't ask what had made her run away, but the bruise still forming on her jaw gave him a good idea. Thinking about someone laying a hand on her burned him up. Surprised him a little, too. He wasn't sure when he'd started thinking that the Hamptons were all on the same side. It was possible he'd never considered they weren't.

The fog from the chem plant may have muddied the shape of the moon, but it brought up the temperature and took the edge off the chill. Fifty feet below them, a single train began to chug down the tracks. It was striped head to toe with green graffiti—the mark of McNulty's gang. The heavy sigh of the engine filled the night.

“It's late for a train, isn't it?” she asked quietly. She had paused by the edge of the sidewalk and leaned over the railing, gazing down on the parallel tracks below. He thought of all the times he and Ty had come here, wishing they were someplace else. Ty would kick his ass all the way across the bridge if she knew what he was doing now. She'd be right, too. Lena Hampton's business was not his business. He needed to stay out of it.

And first thing tomorrow, he would.

“Supply cars,” he said, moving beside her. When she didn't scoot away, he inched closer. “Probably taking weapons to the front lines. The fighting's getting worse, I heard.”

When she stiffened he stifled a groan. Stupid, bringing that up. She probably didn't want to talk about her family's business right now. She'd taken off in the middle of the night for a reason, after all.

“How did you hear that?” She side-eyed him from above his scrunched scarf.

“Longer hours means a big order's coming through. Big orders of weapons usually mean more fighting.”

“Oh.” Her gaze locked on the trains again, so intently that he wondered if she knew more about the war than what had come through the factory line.

“
Is
there more fighting? Last I heard, the North was winning.” He snorted. “I mean, we have to, right? We've got the best weapons.”

Word on the line was that the North was getting closer to pushing the Southern lines back, that soon the Eastern Fed would surrender and the Advocates would disband—but then they'd get more orders. It seemed the war would never end.

Lena gave a bitter laugh, and sort of crumpled in on herself.

“Do you even know why we're fighting?” Her words may have been snobby, but her voice was heavy, sad.

Colin thought back to the lessons he'd learned in school in Bakerstown. They'd watched movies about it—Eastern soldiers in their black and red uniforms raiding houses, taking anything they wanted. People in jails, crying for the Northern Fed's help. Hungry people, waiting in lines for corn bread, which was probably contaminated anyway. It had been shocking, until he'd moved to Metaltown and seen the same thing.

“Because they're the enemy,” he said, chewing his chapped bottom lip. That's what people always said anyway.

“
They're
the enemy,” she said. “How do we know
we're
not the enemy? What if we're the ones who are wrong?”

He supposed there were two sides to every story. Still, he couldn't figure her out. She should have wanted this war. Her family was getting rich on it.

“Maybe you should join the Advocates,” he said, then held up his hands when she spun toward him. “Just a joke,” he added.

Slowly, she turned back.

“No one wins,” she said, and it made him think of Small Parts, and Ty, and even the Advocates, facing up against the whole Northern Federation. How none of them ever seemed to get ahead, no matter how hard they tried.

“I know,” he said. “That's why I'm getting out of here.”

She turned to face him. “You are?”

“Sure,” he said. “There's this place on the coast, Rosie's Bay. You heard of it?”

She shook her head. “Our coastline is prohibited. The oil spills ruined it.”

“Not all of it,” he said. “Rosie's is way up north. There's sand there, and fishing boats. And these little houses. They're on stilts because the tide goes in and out underneath them.”

“That sounds nice.” There was a smile in her voice.

“Yeah. Soon as I finish up some stuff here I'm heading out.”

“Oh.” He thought she might've sounded a little disappointed, but he probably made it up.

She ran her hands up and down her arms, and he thought of how she'd trembled when he'd pulled her from the car. Part of him hadn't wanted to let her go, but the bigger part remembered what she was capable of. She was a roaming disaster. She'd almost run him over to prove it.

He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Is that what you were doing walking to Bakerstown in the middle of the night? Finishing up some
stuff
?” Her voice had taken on a sharp edge.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he'd tried to get the workers to make a stand against her company. Or that Jed Schultz was a common criminal, no better than McNulty over in Bakerstown. Or that he couldn't go home because he wasn't ready to face his ma and explain to her how he and Ty had gotten her kicked out of the Brotherhood. He never wanted to make things harder on her, but that was all he seemed to do.

He leaned back against the railing. Lena still refused to look at him.

“You caught me,” he said. “I was on my way to rob the Cat's Tale.”
The bar right beside Gabe Wokowski's house.
He picked at a loose thread on his coat sleeve.

Her eyes darted to his. “You're kidding.”

“'Course I'm kidding,” he said. “Cat's Tale has security guards. I was going to hit up the liquor store across the street.”

She laughed, and then covered her lips with her hand.

Before he thought about what he was doing, he reached for her wrist, drawing her hand gently away from her face. He'd never met a person who tried so hard to stuff their own happiness back down their throat. She tracked the motion of his arm, caution pinching the corners of her eyes.

“It's all right.” He didn't know why he said that, or why he'd touched her again. Whatever was happening here, it was definitely not
all right.
His hands returned to his pockets where they belonged.

She chewed her bottom lip. He stared at her mouth.

“I suppose it's easier to be a thief if you're charming.” She stared at the ground between them.

“Am I charming?” He leaned closer.

Her lips quirked up, then down. Then suddenly she backed away, chin jutting toward him. “You're after money. That's why you helped me back there. I didn't bring any, okay?”

“I'm not after your money,” he said, a little irritated that she'd brought it up. He knew if he pursued she'd bolt, so he stayed where he was. Did she think money was all he wanted? What
did
he want? It had already occurred to him how reckless it was to be alone with her. Ty was right, Lena could say anything she wanted about what had happened here. That he'd attacked her, robbed her, worse. If she did, he'd be dead before dark tomorrow.

“How could I be so blind?” She glanced back at the car, across the beltway.

“Lena, I don't want your money,” he repeated. “You crashed your car. I didn't even know it was you.”