The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy) (16 page)

I thought of Max and felt a pang of sorrow. “I’m here.”

“What about Amory? Does he know?”

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t be fair to him. It only just started coming back in pieces.”

“Do you love him?”

I swallowed, unsure what to say. On the one hand, the feelings that had come rushing back last night had been overwhelming. I knew I
had
loved him, but those old feelings still felt so new.
 

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think I
did
love him. And if everything comes back . . .”

Logan squeezed my arm, unable to contain her excitement.

“Please don’t say anything to him,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

Logan rolled her eyes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You
will
remember.”

As though that settled everything between us, Logan looped her arm through mine and steered us back toward the house. Roman was already fighting the two-by-fours, trying to pry them away from the front door with a crowbar. Godfrey walked back down the road to pull the 4Runner around while the rest of us watched.
 

Finally, after a lot of swearing and sweating, there was a crack of wood, and Roman fiddled with the front door. It swung open with a groan, and we walked inside, rifles raised.
 

A musty stench hit my nostrils. The house was freezing, and the air was thick with dust. Roman walked into the living room, a flashlight balanced between his teeth, and began yanking the sheets off the couches. It made my stomach ache to think of Ida covering her furniture, so certain she would return.

I walked into the kitchen, and more memories ghosted through my mind. My heart contracted when I remembered Max hovered over the stove in his ridiculous apron, Frank Sinatra blaring as he fried eggplant.
 

The worn kitchen table was still there. So was the ugly wallpaper in the dining room. Everything was exactly the same — as though time had stood still. A cold draft of air hit me from the sliding glass door, which was cracked open beneath the boards.

Then I heard a loud
thud
.
There was a high-pitched cry that didn’t sound human,
and Roman swore again.

I tore up the stairs after him, rifle poised.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw him standing halfway up the stairs near the landing, breathing hard. I followed his gaze of horror, holding my breath in preparation for a carrier’s putrid stench.

But it wasn’t a carrier.

Just a few stairs above Roman, glowering down at us with huge yellow eyes, was Ida’s cat.

“Magnus,” I said without thinking, surprising myself when I recalled his name.

“That fucking furball is a menace! I could have broken my neck tripping over him.”

I bit my lip to suppress a laugh.

“How is he still . . . alive?”

I grinned. “Why didn’t Ida take him with her?”

“He’s a stray. He was just here all the time because Ida fed him.”

“I think she left the back door open so he could get out of the snow.”

“Stray cats . . . carriers . . . that woman doesn’t know where to draw the line.”

I stomped up the stairs past him, giving Magnus a wide berth. I reached the first landing with the bedrooms that had belonged to Logan, Roman, Max, and Ida. Max’s door was wide open, and I closed it discreetly as I passed. I didn’t want Logan to have to see it until she was ready.

Anxious to reach the comfort of my old room, I bounded up the narrower staircase leading to the attic, as though drawn by a magnetic force.
 

I was remembering everything.
 

On my left, I saw sudden movement coming from inside Amory’s room. I jumped, but it was just Amory sitting in the dark on his bed, staring out the window in a daze. He looked around when he saw me.

“Hey,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Hey.” I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, unsure what to say. “Happy to have your old room back?”

He nodded, eyes raking over his shelf of books, the cozy sloped ceiling, and the starlight filtering in from the tiny window. “Yeah. This was the only place where I ever felt . . . at home.”

I nodded. “I hope we’ll be able to save it.”

“Yeah. Ida couldn’t stand World Corp controlling it.”

“Do you think they’ll be back?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It’s possible the carriers made them abandon the project.”
 

I shivered. “You think that bait was from someone else? One of us, I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m not sure. But if that’s the case, it means there are others out there. We need to scout the area to see if whoever it is will help us defend the farm if they do come back.”

“We should rebuild the barn,” I said. “I hate seeing the place like this.”

Amory gave me a funny look that was a mixture of amusement and wariness. “I’m curious . . . when did it become ‘we’ again for you?”

The heat rushed to my face, and I immediately wanted to run away. He probably thought I was crazy.

Amory must have sensed my discomfort, because his face softened, and his eyes flickered over my face.

“I’m sorry . . . about earlier. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
 

Amory shrugged, his shoulders relaxing, and I had the strange urge to tackle him to the bed and wrap my arms around him.
 

I expected that impulse to earn me a sharp stab of pain to the back of my head, but all I felt was the dull shadow of pain.

“I won’t interrogate you again,” he said. “I just . . . I wanted to know when you came back on our side.”

I smiled in relief. “I think I was always on your side. It just took the raid, the commune, and everything else for me to realize it.”
 

I looked away, focusing on his bookshelf so I wouldn’t have to meet his gaze.
 

“You probably think I’m so weak. They had such a hold on me when I first got out . . .”

Amory’s face crinkled in distress. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I never thought that.”

Before I could say or do anything, he stood up, filling the room at his full height and crossing to where I stood. “Haven, I never thought you were weak or somehow less because you’d been brainwashed. I of all people understand what they’re like, and you were there for almost two months. I only had three weeks of it, and I felt like I was losing my mind.”

He enveloped my hands with his bigger ones, staring down at the way they swallowed mine. My breath caught in my chest.
 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get you out sooner.” He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I swear I tried. After you broke me out, they tightened security significantly — facial recognition that cross-referenced the database of wanted illegals, guards, multiple pass codes to enter the building. Godfrey didn’t have any more of those CIDs, so we had to wait until we could buy some.
 

“Then he had to find a way to bring down all their extra security. Even then, it wasn’t a sure thing. That’s why I didn’t want anyone else going in with me. I figured at least if I got caught, Greyson or Logan could try.”

I looked at him and felt the familiar warmth spreading from my chest. This wasn’t a memory of what I had felt for Amory; it was a new surge of affection that didn’t rely on my scattered memories.

“Not a day went by that I wasn’t thinking about you and how I would get you back,” he continued, his voice cracking.

“I know,” I said. “I remember what it was like being on the outside when they had you. It was awful.”

Amory shook his head. “It was so much worse knowing how I felt when I first got out and wondering how far gone you were going to be. I thought they would just try to turn you into a killer, like they did with me.” His voice hitched. “I didn’t know they would make you forget me.”

“They tried.”

Amory’s eyes widened hopefully, but his expression cleared in an instant.
 

“I’m sorry I pushed you. It wasn’t right, and I won’t do it again. But just know that it doesn’t matter if you never remember.” A smile flickered across his face. “I’ve decided I’m going to start over.”

I stared at him, so sure my mouth was hanging open like a cartoon. This couldn’t be happening. I’d only just begun to remember him, and now he was giving up. It was foolish and irrational, but I wondered instantly what other sorts of girls he could possibly meet on the run from World Corp and the PMC.

He must have caught my expression, because he added, “I’m starting over with you, Haven. I got you to like me once. I think I can do it again.”

A dam broke inside me, and pure joy flooded in. I let out a strangled laugh. “I think you can, too.”

I pulled away, still smiling, and backed down the stairs. I needed to leave, because I knew if I stayed there one more minute, I was going to tell him that I’d started to remember. I didn’t want to give him false hope in case my full memory never returned, but I also wasn’t ready for his reaction.
 

If he thought I remembered him, he would want to pick up where we left off, and I wasn’t ready. Just picking through the scattered memories left me blushing.

As I descended the stairs, I heard someone rummaging in the kitchen cabinets. Logan was kneeling on the countertop, opening all the empty cupboards.

She groaned when she saw she had an audience. “Ida didn’t leave us a single scrap to eat.”

“We have the provisions that Godfrey packed.”

Logan wrinkled her nose. “Beans, beans, and more beans? I think I’ll pass. We’ll have to raid some stores tomorrow.”

“What about the cellar? Do you think Ida cleared out all the stuff from the garden we used to can?”

She wheeled around. “Haven, you’re a genius! I can’t believe you remembered that and I didn’t!”

I grinned at the casual way she’d referred to my muddled memory. At least I could always count on Logan not to mince words.

She hopped off the counter and started rummaging in one of the open drawers. A second later, she withdrew a tiny key.
 

I followed her out the back door and around the side of the house in the dark, where two rusted doors were sticking up out of the ground. Trying to ignore the prickle on the back of my neck, I occupied myself with scanning the yard for encroaching carriers. We were alone.

Logan turned the key in the lock and jiggled the handle. It didn’t budge. She turned the key again, and this time the lock clicked back.

Her brow furrowed. “That’s weird. Ida’s so stingy with her strawberries . . . I’ve never seen her leave this unlocked.”

I shrugged, and Logan pulled up on the handle. The door creaked open, and the stench of damp earth filled my nostrils. Logan descended the rough stone steps, waving her arm in front of her to find the hanging cord for the light. She caught it and yanked it down, and a single bulb illuminated the dusty cellar.

Dozens and dozens of canning jars winked at us from shelves around the room, but they were not Ida’s jars filled with pickles, strawberries, rhubarb jam, and tomato sauce. They were filled with a clear liquid.
 

I jumped down the stairs after her to investigate.

“What the —” She snatched a jar off the shelf and twisted the lid. She smelled the liquid, and her nose wrinkled instantly. “It’s alcohol.”

She handed the jar to me, and the strong stench hit my nostrils before I even sniffed.

“Not even good alcohol,” I amended.
 

“Awww, shit,” crowed a voice from behind me.
 

I jumped, and the jar slipped from between my fingers. It shattered, bathing the brick-and-dirt floor in the foul liquid. I jerked my head up toward the entrance to the cellar, squinting to make out the figure in the shadows.

“Now that hurts my feelings, sweetheart.”

My heart was pounding in my throat. Boots scuffed on the rough brick, and dirty denim-clad legs began descending the steps. This man could have been a friend of Ida’s, but we were alone in the dark, and something about his shifty voice made my skin crawl.

I saw his shotgun before I saw his face. He was wearing a heavy brown jacket over wrinkled flannel, and his face was covered in a scratchy-looking gray scruff. He had a halo of wispy hair around a huge bald patch, and he was missing several teeth.

“Now this is a shame. Usually I only have to kill ugly guys — not a couple-a pretty girls.”
 

His black eyes flickered toward Logan, and I threw him a warning look.

“But since you don’t like my moonshine, I really don’t see a way for this to work out . . . unless you decide to be
real
friendly.”
 

He took a step toward Logan, reaching out with a dirty hand, and Logan lunged at him so fast, I didn’t have a chance to react. She twisted his hand, and he bucked forward, howling like a coyote. Her knee shot up, connecting with his groin, and he doubled over in pain, sending the shotgun skidding across the floor.

“You filthy piece of trash,” she growled. “This place doesn’t belong to you.”

“No?” said another voice.

I flew to the ground, grabbing the man’s shotgun and pointing it at the entrance of the cellar. Even the man’s gun felt dirty.

Another pair of boots appeared at the top of the stairs, and then another, but the two seemed to be engaged in a struggle.

“You first,” the man above growled. The second pair of feet descended slowly in front of him. As his face came into view, my heart sank.

The man had Greyson around the neck, a handgun pressed against his temple. Greyson’s face was contorted in anger. There were more footsteps from outside — several more pairs of feet.

Greyson’s captor was younger than the man Logan had pinned, shorter than Amory but taller than Greyson. He was wearing a dirty camo baseball cap and an orange cutoff shirt despite the cold. One of his flabby biceps was pressed against Greyson’s windpipe. The man had all his teeth, but he sucked his saliva in a sickening way and spit out a dark stream of liquid.

When the man saw me pointing the shotgun at him, he broke into a condescending smile. “If I was you, I’d put that down real nice and slow. Otherwise, I’ll blow your boy’s brains out.”