The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy) (20 page)

“Max,” I finished, closing my eyes. That stung me deep down — not just because I missed Max, but because of what he had lost, and because of the pain it caused Greyson to bear witness to what had slipped away from Logan.

I gripped his arm and felt him flinch a little. Greyson wasn’t emotional. He didn’t wear his pain on his face the way Roman and Logan did. I knew it killed him to break down like this in front of me, but I gripped him harder, devotion blazing in my chest.

“Listen. You’re not an outsider here.
You
helped me save Amory from Isador.
You
helped him get me out. And
you
are the reason I’m remembering everything.”

He looked at me, and I could see the effect my words had on him.
 

“
I
am?”

“Yes,” I said. “That night the carriers attacked the camp . . . that run triggered my memory.”

The dark haze that had settled over him seemed to be lifting, so I kept going. “You belong here as much as any of us — probably more than me. I went into Sector X for you, and I would do it all over again. You’re the closest thing I have to family, and I promise we’ll find your mom and Dani.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise we’ll
try
. If we’re still alive after all this, we’ll go up north and find them. But we have to fight the PMC. How long do you think they’ll let illegals live free out west? They postponed migration, but they didn’t escape it entirely. You’d be living in fear out there, too. Things aren’t how they were before. You can’t just choose to be free. We have to fight for it.”

There was a long pause. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I didn’t want him to be angry, but he needed to hear the truth.

“Thanks,” he said finally, sniffing loudly and forcing a laugh. “I think I actually feel better now. That was just the ass-kicking I needed.”

I grinned. “I know.” I shuffled the pictures into a neat stack and pressed them into his hand. “Now stop whining. Stop tiptoeing around the Max issue. If you don’t face this head-on, he’s going to be the giant elephant in the room every time you’re with her.
 

“Give these pictures to Logan. Tell her you’ll give her time. But tell her that when she’s ready, you’ll be waiting.”

The Hoopers arrived the next day, hauling a rickety open trailer behind their black pickup truck. The three of them were crammed into the cab, and the trailer was overflowing with their belongings and supplies.
 

Marcus killed the engine, and Krystal and Jason hopped out.
 

Logan emerged from the guest house. She’d been cleaning furiously again, fighting a losing battle with the spiders and mice. When she saw the Hoopers, she pulled her hair out of her bandana, and it tumbled down around her shoulders in golden waves. Dressed in baggy overalls with no rifle in her hand, she looked oddly domestic.

Jason ogled her. “We brought all the supplies we have,” he stammered, pulling the first crate out of the open trailer. “Where should it go?”

Logan smiled. “We can cook and eat in the main house, so just bring it inside. Any extra can go in the guest house and the cellars.”

The boys wandered out of the house to help unload the food, and we each carried a load inside while Godfrey took inventory of the ammunition. Logan directed the organizational process in the kitchen, making Roman and Amory move each box around two or three times until she was satisfied.

Outside, there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on. I heard someone yell but thought little of it. I’d only just met Jason, but already I knew he was the family loudmouth.

Then, without warning, a gunshot shattered the cheerful sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.

Amory and I exchanged a look, and we both ran for the back door. He snatched up two rifles that were resting against the wall, and I followed him around the house.

We hadn’t even made it to the front yard when two more shots rang out. I pushed my legs harder and then slammed to a halt.

In the front yard, a dozen carriers were rushing the trailer. Their withered skin was drooping around those unnerving yellow eyes, and their pale bald heads gleamed in the sun.
 

 
Godfrey stood frozen inside the trailer, hovered over a crate of canned goods with his rifle trained on the nearest carrier.

As I watched, more shuffled out of the woods, drawn by the scent of food. A few were rocking the trailer or trying to crawl up the sides. Godfrey was taking them out with methodical, precise shots to the head, but there were too many.
 

Amory and I started shooting, and Godfrey jumped into the bed of the pickup truck. One carrier tried to scrabble up the side, but I raised my rifle and shot him in the back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a knot of them gathered near the far corner of the trailer. Someone whipped past me, and before I could stop him, Marcus had thrown himself into the fray.

“No! Don’t!” I screamed.

But it was too late. He’d disappeared into the horde, slicing their jugulars from behind with a butterfly knife.

Suddenly, I knew why the carriers were gathered like that. Looking down, I saw a familiar pair of boots thrashing on the ground. There was a guttural yell, and I realized the boots belonged to Jason.

I aimed at the carriers around him, but I couldn’t kill them quickly enough.

Roman and Greyson were already shooting by my side, and Logan ran into the horde with knives flashing in her hands. I knew she didn’t trust herself to shoot with Jason entangled in the mess, but I wanted to throttle her. There were too many carriers. I wouldn’t be able to stop them rushing her.

“Jason!” Krystal yelled, her voice high-pitched and hysterical. She took aim and was surprisingly accurate, despite the panic in her voice.
 

Logan had nearly cleared the knot of carriers around Jason. Even after the long-term effects of the cure, she hadn’t lost her touch in hand-to-hand combat. She moved her knives artfully, slicing and stabbing as though she were dancing, and they fell off one by one.

Jason lifted his head. He’d shoved his body between the trailer and the ground for cover, but one of the carriers had gotten hold of his arm. Now he had it cradled against his chest, trying to stifle his cries of anguish.

Logan moved into position to fend off three carriers who were still trying to claw at him, and Jason stumbled out behind her.

Then everything slowed down.

A fourth carrier nobody had noticed was crouched on the trailer, rummaging through a box of supplies. He lifted his head at the sound of Logan’s heavy breathing and pounced.

I cried out, but the carrier had already tackled Logan to the ground, and the other three were joining in the frenzy.

I couldn’t shoot at them. I was paralyzed. All I could see was a flash of golden hair as the four carriers overpowered her.

I yelled again, but my voice only gurgled in my throat.
 

Before I knew what I was doing, my instincts had hijacked my common sense, and I was running into the horde.

“Haven!” Amory yelled, but I ignored him.
 

I didn’t have my knives, but I grabbed the carrier on top of Logan around the neck with all the force I could muster, pulling him off her and striking him in the face. There was a vicious crunch that told me I’d broken his nose.

As he staggered out of the way, there was a sharp crack. Amory had shot him.

I fought the carriers as though they were humans: quick punches to the gut and well-placed kicks that brought them to their knees. They were slower than humans — softer — but they were still bigger than me.
 

I used every ounce of strength I had as I gouged out their eyes and elbowed them out of the way. As soon as I pushed them off Logan, Amory would shoot them.

Logan staggered to her feet, bleeding and disheveled, and relief rushed through my limbs. Then I saw the bite along her neck and the bites on her arms.

I took a quick survey of the carriers on the ground. None of them had sores around their mouths yet, so they weren’t contagious.

More gunshots rang out like thunder claps. I tried to keep sucking in oxygen, but the rush of adrenaline in my veins was beginning to subside. I could feel the ache of the bones in my hands and the sting of air on my bleeding knuckles.
 

The growls of carriers were growing further apart. Half of the horde had scattered, and the other half lay dead and dying at my feet.

I looked around wild-eyed and watched Logan skewer the last one with both of her knives. The carrier fell to the ground, bloody and defeated.
 

Logan was too pale, but she was alive.

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do. There were so many dead carriers.
 

I focused on breathing in and out, my arms hanging useless at my sides.

Everyone on the porch was watching us. I wanted to run or crumple into a heap of bones on the ground, but I did neither.

As I surveyed the death all around me, I felt a warm hand on the small of my back that made my skin tingle. Amory was already standing beside me, looking concerned, and I let his touch steady me.
 

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. The stench on the air was a mix of rotten lettuce and stale sickness. My stomach was a flimsy bag of nausea.

“Haven . . .?”
 

“I’ll be all right,” I said. But in truth, I didn’t think I would. I didn’t know how much more killing I could physically tolerate.

Amory pulled me over to the porch and made me sit down. He didn’t say anything as I pulled myself together, but I could feel the subtle contact of his knee against mine, rooting me in place.

Greyson found Logan and pulled her inside to disinfect the bites, and I knew Amory needed to go examine Jason’s wounds. Somehow I’d come out unscathed, though it didn’t feel like it. It never did.
 

Every death, carrier or human, cut me inside and burned like a thousand paper cuts. They never healed over, and every death was a thousand fresh slices, crisscrossing over the old ones and shredding me to pieces.

Over the next few days, we fell into a rhythm at the farm. With the Hoopers’ supplies, we finally had enough to eat, and surviving the horde’s attack gave us a new urgency to fortify our defenses.

Roman and Marcus found some lumber on an abandoned farm, and Greyson and Amory took it upon themselves to design the new barn we would build where the old one had stood.

Neither of them knew anything about construction, but we didn’t have much of a choice. The plans Greyson had sketched showed a building with a larger loft to double the available space for people and a smaller annex to shelter livestock.

A week after the carrier attack, we were already attempting to frame the barn, sweating in the unseasonably intense heat.

I tensed when I heard the crunch of gravel that signaled an approaching vehicle, and Amory stiffened automatically. I found my rifle, and the others fanned out around me, weapons in hand.

The seconds slowed as we waited for the dust to clear, and the 4Runner appeared, followed by a beat-up Ford pickup truck.
 

At the sight of Godfrey and Marcus leading the caravan, I lowered my rifle slightly but continued to inch toward the newcomers in the truck.

“Easy now,” Godfrey grumbled as he got out of the vehicle. “They come in peace.”

So Godfrey had been recruiting. He’d brought Marcus along because he knew all the families in the area that were in hiding.

Piled in the truck were three stocky-looking men in dirty jeans and worn-out T-shirts. They got out, and I watched their scuffed boots shuffle over to where we all stood. Something about their rugged look and beefy frames reminded me of the moonshiners, but at the sight of our shaky construction, they let out a collective rumble of warm laughter that put me immediately at ease.

“Gang, meet the Holts.”

The man closest to me removed his sun-faded baseball cap and held out a calloused hand. “Name’s Ray Holt, and this is my brother Bobby.” He pointed to the shortest man. “That’s Matt, our cousin. We’re here to help.”

“Haven Allis,” I said, taking the man’s hand. It was rough and warm — a hard grip built from honest work.

“What brings you here?” asked Amory, materializing at my elbow.

“We heard ol’ Ida’s fighting back. We want to be of service.” Ray turned back to me. “Plus Marcus here told us how y’all fought off a whole mess of carriers the other day.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” I said grimly, remembering Logan’s screams.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“Out east,” I said. “The hordes near Sector X were much bigger.”

“
That’s
where y’all come from?”

I nodded, not wanting to share our whole life stories with these people. It didn’t matter if we were all
really
from Missouri.

“Damn,” said another of the men. “You on the run or something?”

“Something like that,” said Amory, an edge to his voice.

Maybe I imagined the arch of his brow or the challenge in his gaze, but he looked as though he were trying to shield me from this man, which I thought was cute.

It wasn’t jealousy. No matter how many times Amory and I had fought side by side — watched
each other’s
backs — he always felt the need to protect me in situations where there was no real danger.

“We live a few miles south of here,” continued Ray. “We’ve been laying low since the PMC started to overtake this area. But then Godfrey and Marcus came by and said you were establishing a base. We’d like to fight those bastards.”

“Good man,” said Amory, finally offering his hand. “I’m Amory.”

Ray shook it enthusiastically. “Good to meet you.” His eyes flickered over to our shaky construction. “Tell you what. You teach us how to fight, and we’ll help you build a barn that won’t collapse in one good strong wind.”