The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy) (32 page)

As we sped toward the New Northern Territory, I rested my head against Amory’s shoulder, savoring what I hoped was not one of my last days at his side.
 

Roman’s fever was worse, and he was sprawled across the back row of seats, shivering and sweating under his blankets. I tried to ignore his groans of pain, but all I could think was that maybe it was better this way. I knew Roman would prefer to die quickly fighting the people who were responsible for the virus rather than wither away slowly on Ida’s farm.

We took turns driving and staring out the window, and I began to see signage for the border.

“No CID — No Entry.”

I almost wanted to laugh. There had been a time when I’d been afraid to travel by the interstate, and now we were barreling toward the border — all of us illegals — without fear.
 

We took strange detours to avoid the rovers, but the rebels had such an intimate knowledge of the safe routes along the highway that Shriver never blinked an eye.

It was the middle of the night when we finally pulled off on a smaller back road. I knew we would have to cross the border by taking down a portion of the electric fence, and that made me uneasy.
 

When we pulled off the road into the impressions another SUV had left in the mud, my heart sped up. Amory squeezed my hand, and I returned the pressure.

Shriver slowed down, her eyes scanning the darkness for the metal grid of the fence. I wasn’t sure how she knew we were close. She couldn’t have made this journey more than once, and the forest was pitch black.

Then, in the distance, a pair of headlights flashed. They blinked twice, and Shriver flicked our lights in response.
 

The tires crunched slowly over dead leaves and crackling branches, and the outline of a Jeep came into view on the other side of the fence. The metal grid towered over us, and I could almost hear the hum of electricity on the air.

A tall figure emerged from the Jeep and disappeared into the shadows. There was fumbling and some scraping of metal on metal, and the person on the other side shorted out a portion of the fence.

Then the figure sprinted back into view and grasped the fence, pulling it backward. I gasped a little as the entire section detached from the rest of the fence and swung out. This was certainly more sophisticated than our first crossing. The figure waved Shriver through, and we pulled forward into the New Northern Territory.

I watched in the rearview mirror as the rebel ran to swing the fence back into place, and I knew it was live again. As far as World Corp knew, the border was secure.

The Jeep did not follow us, and I suspected the sentry remained posted at the fence to let the other cars in our caravan pass. We had left the farm in staggered waves so we wouldn’t attract the attention of any PMC cruisers lingering on the highway south of the border.

I expected we would be headed to a camp similar to the one we had fled in the winter, but I was surprised when the trees began to thin and we returned to the highway once again. I didn’t ask Shriver where we were going. Trees along the road disappeared, giving way to fields and derelict towns. Fear was unfurling in my stomach. I didn’t like being without cover in PMC country.

Finally, we reached a cluster of old buildings — a factory. The broken windows along the front looked dark, but as we pulled off and drove around the back, I began to see the flicker of firelight coming through the squares of glass.

Shriver parked, and we got out. As we climbed the crumbled old steps to the back door, I stayed right between Greyson and Amory. A strange wariness had come over me. This was nothing like any rebel camp I’d ever been to.

But then a pair of familiar eyes appeared in the tiny window in the door. The door swung open, and there was Ida, beaming down at us.
 

“Oh my god!”
 

She threw an arm around Logan, who was closest, and crushed her against her chest. “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know if any of you survived.” Ida pulled away, patting her eyes with the back of her lumpy sweater. “When they told me about the attack, I thought for sure . . .”

“We made it,” I said.

“All of you?”

“Not quite all of us,” said Roman in a low voice. He staggered up behind us, looking ashen. “Godfrey’s gone.”

The light disappeared from Ida’s eyes, and the warm, motherly lines around her mouth sagged.

“No,” she breathed.

I prayed she wouldn’t ask how it happened. A lump was forming in the back of my throat, and I looked away. Now that I’d seen her face, I knew Godfrey had been wrong about Ida sending us back to the states. She had never meant to sacrifice us.

“Of course . . . that’s how he would have wanted to go,” said Ida. “In service to the cause.”

Those words almost made me lose my tenuous grasp on my emotions. “The cause” sounded so pitiful now, when our numbers were diminished and we were retreating back to the north. World Corp had taken the states, and Aryus wouldn’t surrender it.

Ida’s watery eyes flitted from one of us to the next, as though she was hoping someone would contradict Roman’s words. When her eyes landed on him again, they widened in shock.

“Oh my . . . oh my dear. You’re not . . .?”

Roman nodded.
 

“How long?”

“I was bitten a few days ago.”

Ida’s eyes quivered again, threatening to spill fresh tears, but she swallowed them down.
 

“He’s doing well so far,” said Shriver gruffly, which I took to mean that Roman was hanging in there despite his inevitable death. In her own way, Shriver’s brand of kindness was the best.

Ida nodded. “Well, you’re here, and we’re still fighting. With any luck, we’ll be able to get our hands on the cure again.”

I smiled weakly because it seemed like the right response, but my heart wasn’t really in it. Judging by the note of defeat in her voice, Ida thought it just as unlikely as I did that we would be able to get the cure in time for Roman.

“And . . . and the farm?” she asked. “Is it really gone?”

“We’re not sure,” admitted Logan. “The barn and the guest house burned. It’s possible the house is still standing.”

The corners of Ida’s mouth twitched, as though she was trying to smile but not quite managing it. “That farm has been in my family for over one hundred years.”

“I’m sorry, Ida,” said Greyson.

“Don’t be silly, dear. I should be the one to apologize. It was wrong of me to send you and Godfrey there without any real strategy. Taking it back from the PMC when World Corp had every intention of using the land was foolish. Godfrey said I let my sentiment get in the way of the cause, and he was right.”

With a shaky deep breath and a fortifying nod, Ida ushered us inside. The building was freezing and smelled of smoke and mildew. I preferred the rebel camps with their blazing campfires and the shelter of the trees around a city of tents.

“It isn’t ideal,” called Ida as she led us up the stairs. Her voice echoed off the filthy cinderblock walls and damp floor, making me feel a bit claustrophobic. “But the woods have become too dangerous.”

“PMC?” Amory asked.

She shook her head. “Carriers.”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad,” said Ida grimly. “We thought at first it was all Rulon’s doing, but there are too many for that. The hordes have been tremendous. We listened in on the PMC frequency and discovered that a huge portion of the fence was still down. It took them nearly a week to repair because they were losing so many officers to attacks.”

“Why are the carriers swarming the north?”

“We don’t know. But when they first came, there was a glut of stage threes.”

“The carriers are fighting back while they still can,” I whispered.

Ida sighed. “That’s what we think, too.”

As we reached the top of the stairs, the sound of voices bouncing off the walls grew louder. The flicker of light told me they had lit a few small fires for warmth inside, and in the dim light, I could discern the outline of hundreds of rebels. Some were huddled together shoulder to shoulder, while others were wrapped up in their sleeping bags against the chill in the air.

“We’ve got room for you down at the far end,” said Ida, motioning with her flashlight. “And Shriver, I hate to ask after your long drive, but I could really use your help. We’ve got a few cases of walking pneumonia, I’m afraid.”

“Just lead the way.”

We shuffled down the narrow aisle toward the tall, broken windows at the end of the factory floor, Ida’s flashlight throwing tall shadows of old machinery and sleeping bodies against the blackened walls. The smoke from the campfires itched my throat, and I heard a few hacking coughs as I passed sleeping rebels. When they shifted away from the light, I caught glimpses of their ragged, unshaven faces.

Ida pointed out the rebels who were sick, and Shriver fell in to check on them.

It hit me that these rebels had probably been holed up in the factory since we had left camp. Seeing the misery of the cold, cramped conditions, I began to think I would rather rough it outside with the carriers.

“They’re not accustomed to fighting carriers,” said Ida, as though she had read my mind. “Or the outdoors, really. Most of these people came from the communes, so they’re still . . . acclimating.”

“Oh,” I said, only because I didn’t know how to respond to that. If they were commune dwellers, it meant that they were mostly inexperienced and terrified of the PMC.

“After the disaster at camp, I couldn’t expose them to that kind of danger again. Even if it meant we had to stay here.”

“Then how will they fight?” asked Roman a little harshly.

“We’ll fight with what we’ve got,” she said.

We had reached the end of the factory floor, where half a dozen pallets and sleeping bags were stacked neatly in the corner.

“I’ll have someone bring you some food. You must be hungry.”

I nodded, wanting to throw my arms around her. I was so glad to see Ida. She was like the mother of our little group.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow we strategize. Everyone must know their role. Then we attack.”

“What about the others?” I asked, thinking of all the rebels from the west who had been following us in the caravan.

“I’ll put them in the basement,” she said carefully. “I’m not sure they will . . . mix well with the others.”

I felt a little pang of guilt when I caught her meaning. She thought the westerners would regard the commune dwellers with contempt for fleeing to the north, since the rebels out west had managed to find safety and abundance through sheer determination. I realized I was no better in my own quick judgment of the commune dwellers. But then, none of them had faced what we had.

Ida placed the palm of her hand against Roman’s cheek — a gesture I was sure he wouldn’t allow from anyone else. Her lips pursed together in concern, and she shot us all one last warm smile before scurrying away.

Amory grabbed two pallets and unrolled them side by side. I smiled and sat down on the one next to his. Logan and Greyson flopped down across from us, and Roman hunkered down a few feet away.

“Bit of a downgrade from Murphy’s camp, isn’t it?” murmured Greyson.

Roman snorted. “It’s a hellhole.”

“Is it really this bad?” Logan wrinkled her nose. “The carriers, I mean. So bad they’d have to retreat closer to the city and camp out in here?”

“You were there,” I said, feeling as though I should defend Ida. “You remember the carrier attack. It was a bloodbath.”

I caught the four of them exchange a glance. I knew they usually avoided mentioning that time. It had been horrible for all of us.

“We remember it,” said Roman darkly. “But I’m surprised
you
do.”

Logan’s face lost its color, but a small laugh burst from my lips.
 

The feeling was infectious. Amory’s shoulders began to shake, and he started laughing, too. Even Roman managed a shifty grin, and he made a weird rumbling sound that hummed in his chest. Pretty soon, Logan was laughing so hard she was crying, and Greyson was sprawled out on his back trying to recover.

The rebels around us took notice, some shooting us irritated looks, but we ignored them. It felt good to laugh, and it had been too long since we had all shared an easy moment.

“So do you think we even stand a chance?” asked Greyson. “Against World Corp . . . with a bunch of commune dwellers?”

“We have the rebels from the west.”

Roman snorted.

“That won’t be nearly enough,” said Logan.

“Ida’s smarter than that,” said Amory. “If we’re here, that probably means she’s called in everyone. This is the last uprising.”

“What do you think they’ll do with all of us if we lose?” asked Logan.

Amory’s brows lifted. “Kill us, if we’re lucky.”

We all fell silent. Killing us would be the merciful choice, but we all knew Aryus better than that.

One of Ida’s men came over with a warm pot of thick stew, a loaf of bread, and bottled water. We all ate quickly and fell back onto our pallets to stare at the cold metal ceiling.

Even with warm food in my stomach, the misery of the huddled rebels and the dying revolution hit me. Never in a million years would I have imagined I would be sleeping on the floor of an abandoned factory in the New Northern Territory. I was homeless, with nothing but the clothes on my back, and I was about to fight to the death to overthrow World Corp.

Then Amory’s warm fingers laced through mine, and slowly, the heavy weight of sadness lifted. I snuggled into him, wishing we weren’t surrounded by hundreds of other people. More than anything, I wanted to feel him all around me again, with nothing between us. That was the only thing that would take my mind off what we were about to do.

As if he could sense what I was feeling, Amory tugged me closer. I settled into the crook of his arm and rested my head over his heart, savoring his warmth. The steady beat, accompanied by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, was the most soothing sound in the world.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered, “at least we have this.”