Refugee Road (Freedom Fighters Series Book 1) (3 page)

I made slow progress. My body was weak and tired. It had been a stressful day and a long night. My mind was fatigued, my stomach was empty, and my thirst was terrible. I started to stumble more. Wherever he was taking me had to be the longest route in history. I finally sagged against the wall and closed my eyes, unable to take another step. He must have sensed my inability to protest because he scooped me up into his arms and held me against his chest.

“Not much farther now,” he murmured.

I must have passed out. When I awakened he was staring down at me, his brows drawn together in concern. I blinked a few times to clear the cobwebs from my brain and struggled to keep my eyes open.

“I know you want to sleep. I think you should eat and drink something and then I will let you rest.”

I sat up slowly with his help and managed to eat some cheese and bread and drink another cup of water. My eyelids kept trying to shut. Exhaustion was going to claim me again and I hardly had the strength to resist. He helped me lay back against the pillows. Where did pillows come from? And a bed? I was laying on a soft mattress. Something warm and comforting covered me and I sighed.

The next time I awakened bright light was filtering in through a large rip on the right side of the window shade. Ironically enough the beam of light was directly centered on my forehead. I had to adjust the pillow and move to the left or be forced to go blind from the brightness of the light.

Feeling weak I decided to stay in bed. There was no sign of my captor. Or should I say savior now? That was a bit generous. Perhaps healer was good enough for the moment. No sense in getting too comfortable around him.

The room was painted in a faded beige and gold, decorated with several paintings of scenic rivers and mountainsides. A landline phone was plugged into the wall by the bed and I was half tempted to check if it worked. A long rectangular light, currently not in use, was anchored to the wall above my head. Across from the bed was a door that stood slightly ajar. I could hear the faint drip of a toilet. A fake green house plant sat across the room seemingly out of place and in isolation.

I realized suddenly where I was. This was a hospital room. An old and abandoned one by the looks of it. The rails on the side of my bed were lowered but still able to raise if needed. I took advantage of being alone and snuck into the bathroom. I felt much better afterwards but weakened from the exertion. My knee did not appreciate any amount of use. It took considerable effort to make it back to the bed. I had just managed to lay back down when the door opened and the guard walked in.

He rushed to my side and his fingers quickly found my radial pulse.

“You look pale.”

That was all he said. Nothing else. Not even after we stared at each other for about five minutes in silence. Something must have been going through his mind. I could literally see the wheels working. Whatever secrets he had, he kept. I finally glanced away.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I whispered, my throat hoarse and dry from thirst.

“You’re welcome.”

He dropped a large pack onto the bed between us. Food, water, medicine, maps, and several small weapons covered the bed.

“These are all for you. Once you are healed enough I will help you leave. Until then you must be able to protect yourself…just in case.”

“Will I be alone until then?” I asked, suddenly a little afraid.

He shook his head and I think he smiled, but the bandana hid his expression. “No, I will be in and out to check on you. Don’t leave.”

Satisfied I drank from the canteen and ate some of the food he provided. He remained silent, his gaze falling on my face every now and then. Curiosity ran rampant in my brain. A thousand questions formed only to never be asked.

“Put some of your weight on that knee as often as possible or it will become stiff.”

I nodded, nervously chewing my bottom lip.

“I will return this afternoon.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Every day for three days he visited me. Each morning he arrived with fresh supplies. There was always food, water, and medicine. He sat beside my bed in an old chair. The upholstery was ripped apart like something had chewed on it, which for some reason humored me, and he asked how I was feeling.

We would sit in silence and then he would leave. In the evening he would return and repeat the process. Oddly enough his silence did not bother me. It was peaceful. Almost nice. I relaxed easily in his presence, almost as if I knew him. If he intended any harm toward me I firmly believed it would have been accomplished already.

Each moment I spent with him increased my curiosity. What sort of soldier took care of the enemy? What sort of person set aside their own beliefs or differences to care for someone who was injured? Did he lose anyone in the war? People he loved? Perhaps a girlfriend, wife, or lover? Loss was the one thing I could understand. Loss was familiar. Somehow I sensed it in him, and knew at least in that regard we were kindred. Perhaps he also noticed that loss in me. He would not be the first.

The third afternoon he finally told me we would leave in the morning. His grey eyes looked almost sad, more guarded, less determined, than usual. Irritatingly enough he never removed that bandana. His military grade hat was always pulled low over his eyes.

I sensed a struggle beneath his calm exterior. His fingers twitched on the bed next to mine. His right foot tapped an inconsistent but constant rhythm by the metal rail. He cleared his throat more than once. I nearly asked him what was wrong a dozen times.

“I trust you will sleep well. Good night.”

I fully expected him to jump up and leave. Instead he rose slowly and paused, his eyes lingering on my face. When he finally met my stare I almost forgot to breathe. There was an intensity that caused the butterflies in my stomach to flutter and stir. It was not entirely unpleasant.

Five, ten, maybe even fifteen minutes he continued to watch me, searching for something. Perhaps he was trying to figure out me as much as I was trying to figure him out. I almost wished I could give him what he was looking for but I could not. I knew nothing of what he wanted. I knew nothing about him. And then, just as swiftly as before, he was gone.

Long after he left I continued to stare at the door. I hoped the wooden planks would give me answers to my swirling thoughts. Part of me wanted his tall frame to enter the doorway again. Part of me was frightened that he would.

I almost wondered what would happen if I peeked out the door. Would he be close by? Did he watch the building? Would he swoop down upon me and chastise me for my inquisitiveness? I almost tiptoed to the door to find out. Almost. Instead I sat in lonely silence until sleep finally claimed me.

Morning arrived swiftly. I was ready when he arrived, having little to do to prepare. Everything I owned was in my backpack. We exited the room quietly and made our way slowly out of the dimly lit building, stopping periodically to avoid militia soldiers making their rounds. The pace was a relief. Rushing would only have injured my knee further.

I followed close behind my guard protector, anxious to avoid detection. Despite the rest of the last few days my body felt weak and strained. The effort of walking was fatiguing. I dare not entertain the idea of how much longer I needed to go. Base camp for the refugees was miles from here, miles from Refugee Road.

We left the building minutes later, greeted by a winter wonderland of white. Nervously I scanned the perimeter hoping I wouldn’t be shot. Against that startling white we stuck out like black marker on a whiteboard. His navy blue uniform was crisp and clean, covered in medals that glittered in silver and gold, and shining in the morning rays of sunlight. In my fatigues and borrowed combat boots, there was no mistake what group I belonged to.

Shoot first. Ask questions later. It was my body that would become riddled with bullets, not his. I knew by now how the militia guards took shifts. Every few minutes they walked past this part of the compound. We did not have much time. My life depended on his discretion and speed.

He quickly grabbed my hand, his fingers grasping mine tightly, and dashed into the tree line. I have no idea why I let him take such liberties. I immediately should have yanked my hand from his but I let it linger, savoring the connection and thankful for his speed.

Crazy thoughts scrambled in my head. Was I so desperate for human touch? For kindness from a stranger? I barely knew him. I had never even asked him his name. For all I knew he was just as lethal and cunning as the rest of the militia. What if I became trapped or worse? But something deep down, something tangible and real, told me he was different.

In this instance, I obeyed my gut. It told me to trust him. And so I did. He put me at ease, ironically, and I suddenly wanted to know who he was. It was my last chance. Any minute I would be leaving and I would probably never see him again. The least I could do was thank him. No harm in that.

Out of breath, we rested and paused in our frantic rush to leave the soldiers behind us. I leaned against a frozen tree for support and surveyed my surroundings. Briefly, I hoped to catch a glimpse of someone I knew. Any of my companions. Anyone left hiding to round up stragglers. But no one was around and of course, they would not be. Another of Darren’s dictates. It was too dangerous. Too risky. I knew that. And yet I had almost dared to hope.

I looked at the guard, wondering what his next move was going to be. I considered saying something, breaking the silence between us, but he pulled me along before I had the chance. The cold instantly penetrated my body and I started to shiver. I let him lead me by the hand again, his steady and strong grip keeping me from stumbling and falling on the uneven ground.

My knee ached at the constant use. The only warmth came from his gloved hand in mine. Snow sloshed, covering my legs to the thigh and left our footprints etched into the surface. We would be an easy trail to follow.

He must have read my mind.

“I will remove the footprints when I return. No worries.”

He seemed rushed, winding us quickly through the labyrinth of trees and forest, darting us under cover as much as possible. Only when I saw the street sign did I realize where we stopped. I had come full circle.

This was where it had all started, only a few short nights ago. This was where I had awaited the militia delivery caravan. The place where blood and violence had ripped me from my friends. Where the night had taken such a drastic turn. I dare not let my eyes linger upon the ground, uncertain of what evidence may lay behind…

All at once we were standing a few feet short of the broken and dilapidated road that remained one of the few safe paths the refugees dared to travel. Those who fought for freedom from tyranny held their ground here. The militia could not secure this road. Oh they had tried. Numerous times. It was a liability to them, this small stretch of pavement.

We never gave quarter. Never let them have a reprieve. We always attacked them on this road. A warning. A promise. We would not be dismissed so easily. We were here to stay. I knew what the sign said before I raised my eyes, even with its faded and nearly forgotten black letters: Refugee Road.

The guard cleared his throat and looked into my eyes. Slowly and carefully he pulled off his hat and bandana, revealing his face to me for the first time. For a split second I wondered why he chose now, at this moment, to make his identity known. For days he had the opportunity. In the end his reasons did not matter. The fact was that he
did
reveal himself.

Stunned I stood in place, afraid to move, afraid even to blink. If I did he might disappear. I gasped as my hands flew over my mouth in shock and surprise. It was
him
.

Oh God, he was alive. He made it. He wasn’t dead. Relief flooded through me, swift and sure, sending heat into my core and a blush rising to my cheeks. He was
alive
.

The word echoed in my head a dozen times. Alive.

We had met only once…

Years ago now, long before the air raids, bombings, and tanks had destroyed my hometown. Long before death and despair had taken prominence in my life and deeply planted in the root of my heart. Long before loss was etched deeply into my soul, tearing me forever from the person I used to be.

My sister was getting married. The entire neighborhood had been invited. Families we had known for generations were coming and the celebration was massive. We cooked for days in preparation. She was older than me, by four years.
He
was there that night.

Rationing our supplies meant little food was available to purchase for Lydia’s wedding. The war had produced limitations and short supply on everything. In order to make her wedding cake, over twenty neighbors gave up rations of sugar, eggs, milk, and flour. The worst was the rationing of nylons. Lydia was desperate for a pair for her wedding. We spent weeks locating a vendor who could get us a pair. It cost nearly three weeks wages from mother. I almost throttled Lydia for the extravagance.

Lydia had always been the mature sister. She was beautiful while I had been a scrawny tomboy. She never lacked a date. Her popularity was famous. I used to follow behind her, trailing her friends and watching what they were doing. I idolized her. Lydia pretended to be annoyed but she always sent a secret smile in my direction when she thought no one would see it.

I, on the other hand, was completely immature. When I was out practicing my slingshot techniques on nearby rodents, Lydia was helping clean the house and tend the garden with mother. When I ran around in abandoned houses and managed to cover myself entirely in dirt, she had been sewing dresses and curling her hair. More than once she begged me to paint on those long thin pantyhose lines on the back of her legs because she had to look like a lady and we could not afford them.

We had fought that day, the day of her wedding, the last day we spent together. The day I met
him
. She had scolded me, telling me at fifteen I needed to be mature and grow up. Both of us had been angry. I hadn’t cared then but in an effort to prove her wrong and rub it in her face I had cleaned up for the party. I put on a dress, curled my hair, and even wore black heels. Rebellion, it seems, is greatly ingrained in my nature.

I was not impressed with the reception party at first. It was all the same people I grew up with. Everyone knew each other which meant they also knew me. I did not dress up. At all. I hardly wore anything but pants. So, the teasing was terrible and constant until my best friend Angela showed up and rescued me. She was my closest friend and did not judge me. We were the same age, nearly inseparable, and stuck to each other like glue. I could count on Angela for anything.

I tackled her with a hug when she entered, bringing a huge smile to her lips. She brought a young man with her, whom she quickly introduced as her cousin, Alec. He winked at me, strange steel grey eyes penetrating mine. I instantly thought he was the most handsome guy I had ever seen. Tall, dark haired, broad shouldered, and intelligent. He did not waste time with idle conversation but quickly engaged my attention.

We spent the entire night together, dancing and talking. I was completely smitten with him that night. Never had I met anyone before I could talk to so easily, especially a boy. We clicked, sharing the same interests in nature and science. He was a few years older than me but I hardly noticed. I only had eyes for him. He had kissed me before he left, my first real kiss.

I never forgot. I never forgot
him
. In fact, I never knew what happened to him at all. I never had the chance to find out. We hadn’t seen each other since that night so long ago.

It all flashed before my eyes in a matter of seconds. Every memory. Every smile. Every laugh. It flipped like photographs in quick succession through my mind, racing to a cataclysmic finish. I dropped to my knees, completely unaware of the pain radiating in my leg.

“Alec,” I whispered, overcome.

Where had he been all this time?

“Lizzie,” he answered, taking a few steps toward me.

All this time, all these years, had he been here? In the militia? Right under my nose?

“How?” I asked, needing answers to my scattered thoughts.

He looked uncomfortable. “I…it sort of happened.”

What?
I thought. Another idea flashed suddenly in my mind, causing instant irritation. What the hell was he doing fighting for the militia? Why was he helping the enemy? The thought brought me crashing back to reality and I stood up, stepping away from him. I backed into the tree, anger and betrayal springing to my eyes.

I finally spoke. “Why? Why are you fighting in the militia?”

He moved closer, taking my face between his hands. “Lizzie, listen to me. I don’t have the time to explain. You have to get out of here before they find you. I’m going to have a hard enough time explaining how you escaped.”

That was it? That was all he was going to say?

“Huh,” I replied, deflated.

“Please,” he begged, “listen. I never got a chance…things happened…”

I heard him sigh and swear softly under his breath.

“I missed you. I wanted to…if things were different…none of that matters now. Don’t hate me Lizzie. It’s not what you think. Things are not always what they seem.”

He dropped his hands and turned away. For a moment I thought he was going to leave and then he turned back around.

“Get out of here Lizzie. Go, get back to your people where I know you will be safe. I don’t want you hurt,” he told me in a rush, his words jumbling together.

I wanted to listen but he was looking at me so intently with those beautiful eyes of his that I could not comply with his request. I met his gaze, part of me wishing that life was not so complicated, that everything had not taken such an ugly turn, and with sudden realization I knew.

Neither of us were the same person we were three years ago. War had changed us both. I did not understand why he was fighting on the wrong side but I was going to give him the chance to explain. I could give him that.

Alec looked different, now that I noticed. He was older of course, but mature, hardened, and more muscular. His eyes were more careful and guarded than I remembered, masking deep emotion. My guess was pain. Pain was something we both were familiar with. A common ground that united us.

He was still incredibly handsome and taller than I remembered, towering inches above my head. Soft flurries of icy snow started to fall all around us. They fell into his brown curls, framing his rugged good looks. I blushed when I realized I had yet to respond.

“Alec…I missed you too,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Why did I say that? None of this was making any sense. Telling him changed nothing. It would not make a difference. I would never see him again. We would leave and fight, on opposite sides of each other, until death or victory claimed us both. And yet, in that moment, I found it hard to care.

He smiled widely, a toothy grin lighting up his face for the first time. Leaning down close to me, his palms pressed lightly against my cheeks, he pressed his lips softly to mine. It was brief. Beautiful. And I felt it in every nerve ending in my body. He held me close against his chest, the beating of his heart beneath my ear. He hugged me tight, warmth spreading into my body from his. Neither of us said a word.

He finally stepped back, letting go and putting a few feet between us. I looked up at his face, searching his eyes. He seemed upset. It was not the reaction I was expecting.

“Lizzie, I don’t want you to fight on the frontlines anymore.”

Surprise made me take a step back. “What?”

He glanced at the ground, stomping snow from his boots. “I’m afraid for you. I don’t want you to get captured. The militia is cracking down harder on refugees and insurgents. You have to be careful. Watch out for yourself. Don’t do anything foolish…please.”

I nodded but he shook his head.

“No Lizzie, you need to understand what I am saying. Do you remember the guards, the ones who attacked you the other night?”

I gasped. Yes, I remembered. “Yes.”

“They will stop at nothing Lizzie, nothing…to bend your will or make you suffer. They would do anything to you…I…please don’t be careless.”

I understood. Those men had been capable of anything. The implication of his warning was not lost on me.

“One more thing,” he paused, taking my hand, “don’t come looking for me. It will only get you killed. If I need you, I know how to find you. Trust me in this. All right?”

I was momentarily hurt. If he needed me? If he wanted to find me?

“Fine,” I answered quietly.

I wondered if he was going to try to see me again or if this was his way of tactfully ending things between us before they had a chance to begin. Was he interested in meeting me again? Was his caution out of genuine interest in my safety or just part of the war effort? Like bonds and food rations?

“Do you think we will ever see each other again?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

I could not help asking. It was a complete fluke we crossed paths to begin with. A part of me wanted to see him again, just to have a connection to my past, to something decent and worthy and cheerful. The thought of never having a chance to pick up where we left, to never know what we could have had, set off an ache deep in my chest. It was a selfish impulse. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered out of control.

I almost changed the subject, ready to walk away.

Alec raised his hand and brushed it along my cheek. “I’ve been looking for you for three long years Lizzie. Why do you think I am fighting at the front of the militia? It was only a matter of time and a process of elimination. I knew I would find you. This was the most thorough way to ensure it.” I smiled at his confession. “Now go, and quickly. Don’t stop in this cold until you reach home safe. I will find you again Lizzie, I swear it.”

He kissed me again before I could answer, stronger and more passionate than the first kiss. I clung to him, wrapped tightly in his arms, as the memory of that night so long ago lingered fresh in my mind. How and when were not important but I knew we would see each other soon. I felt it in my heart. When he released me, I was slightly unsteady.

“Until I see you Alec…be safe.”

He smiled at me tenderly. “You too Lizzie.”

He said something else then but I couldn’t make it out since the sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance. Alec was immediately alert, concern evident on his face. He helped to slide the backpack over my shoulders and I left quickly, pausing only once to look back. He was watching me, his forehead still creased in a frown, as he watched me limp away.

She was alive. Oh God, Lizzie was
alive
. Three long years Alec had searched for her. He had almost given up in despair. He had almost believed that she had perished along with her family. But her body had never been discovered. He had stumbled upon the graves, terrified she had been among them. She was not.

Someone had buried her mother and sister. Someone had lovingly marked their names on wooden crosses. That small detail had been the only thing to give him hope. He knew then that she had to be alive. His chest ached with pent up emotion as he watched her walk away. It took every ounce of strength he had not to chase after her.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. A woman now, she was everything his mind had conjured up. In stolen quiet moments in his bunk he had thought of her almost every day since the bombing started. Truthfully he had never gotten her out of his mind…or his heart. Those big brown eyes of hers were so expressive, set in the prettiest heart shaped face, and full lips that beguiled him when she smiled. He was bewitched.

Alec should not have kissed her so soon. He might have scared her. The last thing he wanted was to push her away or create feelings that would cause a barrier between them. In his mind they had always been together since that night. Even now he could close his eyes and remember the way she looked and how she had smiled shyly at him. Her rosy blush. Her lowered eyelids. Her sweet innocence.

The woman he held tonight was the mature version of the one he cherished. Soft curves, quiet grace, and just enough mystery to completely engulf him. If possible, he fell even more in love with her at that moment. She glanced back at him once and it was almost his undoing. He held himself in check only for the promise of a future with her. There were plans to be made. Plans set in motion that he had to finish. He would see her again. This much he knew.

Unlike his militia friends and superiors, if you could call them friends, he had put the pieces together. Alec knew their patterns. He knew where they would strike and how they would plan their next attack. There was no doubt in his mind now. He had already accurately predicted several of their last raids. In fact he counted on the Refugee plans. It would lead him straight to Lizzie. In his heart he knew he would find her a thousand times if necessary.