The Last Uprising (Defectors Trilogy) (6 page)

“The attack on the last World Corp base went badly wrong, and now we have all these refugees who have defected from the northern commune and no real center of leadership.
 

“We’re recruiting faster than we can mobilize everyone. These newest defectors aren’t mercenaries like the rebels at Rulon’s camp. They’re older. Some of them aren’t even strong enough to fight. But we can’t just abandon them.”

“Where are we?” I asked.

“We’re still north of the border, which means we’re in enemy territory. We don’t have the hordes of carriers to deal with, but supply runs are getting too dangerous. The PMC here is much better fortified than they were in Sector X.”

I let this information wash over me. Somehow, I knew I should be suspicious and angry with Amory, but I found I was merely curious. The needles prickled at my hairline, but the pain did not cripple me the way it had when Amory touched my hand.
 

He seemed to be the source of all the pain, which only intensified my fascination with that memory. I’d reflected on it so many times it only felt half-real, and it didn’t make sense.

By now I knew my memory had been damaged in training, though whether that was intentional or merely a side effect, I couldn’t be sure. But if World Corp
had
withheld some memories on purpose, what was the harm of the Amory memories if he had been hostile? Surely they wouldn’t think those events would shake my loyalty.

“What else did they tell you about the New Republic?” Amory asked suddenly, pulling me back from my reverie. “In your training?”

“You know everything I know,” I muttered. “You just choose to ignore it.”

Amory waited, hanging on my every word, so I continued. “The New Republic formed after the acquisition of the New Northern Territory . . . after the Collapse of the federal government and after the Great Migration. Citizens were protected against the virus and protected against themselves.”

“How do you mean?”

“Mandatory Identification. When people knew someone was watching, there was less crime . . . more security. Through order comes progress. We’re building a better world. The only true threat left are the rebels who look to destroy everything we have done.”

“A better world? What do you mean by that?”

I wanted to stop. I knew I
should
stop, and looking at Amory was making the pain creep up the base of my neck. I shook my head to clear it and continued. “Energy efficiency . . . a republic that is completely self-sufficient. World Corp International has made great strides on the crops we can grow, technology, medicine . . .”
 

The pain had turned from a dull throb into a sharp stab that seemed to press through my skull, but I rolled on. “We’ve already conquered North America. We’re well on our way to taking the entire western hemisphere.”

“How? How does the republic plan to take over? Aryus is losing control in his own stolen territory.”

I stopped, turning away from Amory to hide my shame and ignoring the persistent pain in my brow.
 

Why had I told him all that? Any information I gave would be used against the republic.

“Haven —” Amory reached out to squeeze my arm, but I jerked out of his reach.

“Stop. Just stop. I know what you’re doing.”
 

How could I have been so stupid?
I thought. Everything Amory had done — every look, every word — had been designed to manipulate me, wear me down, and make me trust him so I would give them information about World Corp’s plans.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. After a few minutes of silence, he stood up and reached for me. I ignored this gesture, and he seemed to brush it off as I followed him back toward my tent.

I fought the gawking stares of the others at camp as I ducked around to the front of my tent and went inside. Amory looked angry about all the unwanted attention, but he turned back toward me with a slight smile playing on his lips.

Slumping down in the corner, I looked up at Amory with a challenging stare. He hesitated for a moment and then left without binding my ankles.
 

I knew it was meant to be a gesture of goodwill, but I could not help feeling that he was taunting me. Amory seemed to know I would not attempt an escape because I had nowhere else to go. Or maybe he sensed my curiosity and knew it would weaken my resolve to leave.

I did not see Roman for the rest of the day. Amory took it upon himself to bring me my meals, as though he suddenly felt invested in my well-being.
 

Around nightfall, Amory left me my supper on his way to lookout duty. I listened to him walk away as I chewed the hard bread crust. Several paces away from my tent, his footsteps suddenly stopped, and I heard the low rumble of Roman’s voice.

“Still playing guardian angel?”

“Go away.”

There was a brief shuffle of footsteps, as though Roman had blocked his path.

“Taking responsibility for the problem you brought here, I guess,” he taunted.

“You’re cheerful,” growled Amory. “No wonder she’s been making so much progress.”

“
Progress
?” Roman scoffed. “She’s completely brainwashed.”

“So was I.”

“Yeah, you weren’t there that long, though.”

“You really think a few weeks make that big of a difference?”

“Of course it does! Especially after they had you to practice on.”

An angry growl escaped from Amory’s throat. “She’s coming back. It’s only a matter of time before she —”

There was a rough sound of muscle on muscle, as though Roman had shoved Amory’s chest.

“Before she
what
? Escapes and betrays our position? She’s not on our side.”

“She
is
on our side.”

“No, she’s not!” Roman yelled.

Amory’s voice was so low I could barely hear his next words. “She’s one of us. We do not throw away our own.”

“Not all of us are as invested as you,” said Roman. “I know you two had a thing.”

My mouth fell open as the realization hit me.

“That has
nothing
to do with it,” snarled Amory.

“I think that has
everything
to do with it,” said Roman. “She warps your judgment. Everyone thought it was a bad idea for you to go in there. Greyson and Logan only went along with it because she was their friend and you were tearing around like a fucking maniac.”

Amory interrupted in an exasperated tone. “Well, she’s here. She’s safe. And she’s already given us valuable information.”

“Information World Corp is happy to disclose to its enemies, I’m sure.”

“They’re planning something . . . taking over the entire western hemisphere. This isn’t just a vision — Aryus is evangelizing. He’s psychotic.”

“See? She’s in your head. They’re just trying to distract us.”

“She’s not part of their plan . . . at least she wasn’t yet. They still had her there because she wasn’t ready. She was still defying them. Have you seen all those HALLO burns on her arm?”

Roman sighed.

“I’m telling you. She was fighting back then, and she’s fighting back now. And when she’s herself again, she’s going to be able to tell us things we need to know.”

Amory’s words hit me hard. Shame and betrayal seared my insides, burning my throat and choking me. They had made me weak —
Amory
had made me weak. He’d tried to make me trust him and wear down my defenses.

Maybe he
had
cared about me — maybe he still did — but Amory had tricked me.
 

I bit down on my lip to stop the tears that were threatening to come, feeling too angry with myself to care about the burning in my head.
 

Why did I care? What did it matter?
 

I knew all along I could not trust Amory and the others, yet I had let my guard down. The enemy had poisoned my mind.

I waited until the sounds of Amory’s and Roman’s footsteps had faded completely.
 

After a few minutes, the camp fell silent. It wasn’t very late, but I supposed the rebels didn’t dare gather around the fire at night to talk and relax. They were in PMC country after all, and their survival depended on concealing their camp.

Moving slowly and carefully, I felt my way around the tent. Awkwardly propping myself up with my tied hands for balance, I crawled through the supplies searching for scissors, a knife,
anything
sharp enough to cut my ropes.

My knee hit something hard, and it skittered across the tarp under a sack of beans. It was a box cutter.
 

Triumph swelled in my chest as my fingers connected with it in the darkness. I settled back onto the tarp and listened intently for anyone approaching. Nothing.

Holding it steady between the soles of my boots sharp side up, I began to saw at the heavy ropes around my wrists. It was slow work. The blade was very dull, but it was enough. Thread by thread, I ripped into the rope until it came apart between my hands and my bonds fell away. Stroking the skin where it had begun to chafe, I marveled at the delicateness of my freed arms.

I longed to run — to leave this camp and never look back — but I knew I had to be smart. An empty paper bag rustled at my feet, and I rummaged around in the supplies looking for food to fill it. I tore into the sack of dried beans and grabbed a box of oatmeal from a crate underneath.
 

I lamented the pallets overflowing with canned vegetables at the back I would have to leave. My paper bag could not handle their weight.
 

As a consolation prize, I salvaged a dented tin camp pot from a box of kitchenware and threw that in, too. I had no matches or flint starter to make a fire, but I would worry about that later.

I paused for a moment at the flap of my tent to listen for footsteps, my breath coming hard enough to disturb the heavy canvas. Hearing nothing, I pushed it aside and made my way carefully around the back of the tent.
 

Walking on the edge of the woods wasn’t as quiet. Every snapping twig made my heart leap into my throat, but the shadows offered more concealment than ducking between the tents. Plus, if I was spotted, I would have a better chance of disappearing into the trees.

I edged my way around the camp, trying to get my bearings. I had no idea
where
north of the border we were, but if I headed due south, I was sure to find the PMC. I remembered the direction the sun rose and set off at a ninety-degree angle from the side of my tent where the light peeked through every morning.

As I cut through the trees, my foot found a deep divot — tire tracks leading away from camp. I followed the tracks, able to walk more quietly where the undergrowth had been tamped down by wide tires.
 

When I was thirty paces from camp, the snap of a branch to my right nearly gave me a heart attack.

“Leaving, are you?” called a voice behind me.

I jumped, looking around wildly for the watcher.

I heard a match strike, and a tiny ball of light briefly illuminated a face. My stomach dropped.

There was a click, and Greyson fiddled with a lantern, throwing light and shadows between the trees. He was slumped on the ground, shivering in what looked like three bulky coats. I hadn’t seen him in the darkness, but he was so close it was a miracle I hadn’t stepped on him.

“Stealth guard,” he said. “It’s more effective if someone’s trying to sneak into camp . . . or out,” he added with a humorless grin.

I did not look at him. My eyes were focused instead on the rifle cocked under his right arm. He followed my gaze and lowered the gun to the ground.

“Seriously?” His face fell into a dark frown. “I’m not going to shoot you, Haven.”

There was a note of defeat in his voice, though he had the upper hand.

I glanced quickly down the path, my eyes following the tire tracks until I couldn’t see them anymore.
 

What were the chances they had another guard posted farther down?
I knew Amory was on lookout duty, too. Perhaps he would see me and try to stop me leaving.

Greyson let out a cold laugh. “Wow. You really do hate us.”

I looked at him, unsure why that cut me so deep. I remembered that Greyson and I had been friends, but there was something artificial about my oversaturated childhood memories — something I didn’t trust.

“Go on, then. Leave.”

Although he was looking down the path, I detected his poorly concealed resentment and hurt.

“You’ll let me leave?”

When he met my gaze, he looked surprised. “Yeah. Haven, when have I ever made you do something you didn’t want to do?”

I dodged this strange question by staring at my boots. I really should have grabbed some extra clothes from the supply tent. I would freeze out here exposed to the elements.

“It’s probably for the best anyway,” Greyson continued. “I don’t know if your memory will come back, and honestly, you being here hasn’t been easy. We might all be better off . . .” He glanced away, fiddling absently with the lantern.

I didn’t say anything. For some reason, his words did not bother me the way Amory’s had. Something in the back of my mind recalled that Greyson was prone to these frank, bitter statements. While they were hurtful to some people who didn’t know him well, I knew they were just Greyson’s way of protecting himself.

“I didn’t know you cared,” I said.

“Of course I care.” He still wouldn’t look at me. “You know, I accepted that you were dead. I knew you were. After Amory escaped, I didn’t think Aryus would keep you alive. But Amory wouldn’t stop digging. He wouldn’t believe you were dead.”

I felt a swell of emotion that someone had cared enough not to give up, which was strange, considering they had ripped me away from World Corp and tried to get me to divulge the information I knew.
 

“Finally, we got some intel that you were being held in one of their . . .
treatment
facilities. I didn’t think we’d ever get you out — not after last time. But Amory was obsessed.”

He stopped speaking for a moment. “Do you remember how long it was before Amory snapped out of it last time?” he demanded suddenly. “I mean,
really.
How long did it take before he was himself?”