Breaking Point (6 page)

“Quiet down,” Wallace said. His face was a mixture of awe and concern, like he was surprised about something. It made my stomach tighten involuntarily. Wallace was never surprised about anything.

“It’s Cara,” I heard Lincoln whisper to Houston. His face was ashen, his freckles that much more severe.

“I lost sight of her,” said Houston more to himself than anyone else. “Before the shooting even started.” He swore, angry with himself.

“She does that, man,” said one of the other guys. “Don’t worry about it. Cara follows Cara’s rules. Doesn’t mean anything. She always shows back up.”

I cranked my head toward the guy who’d spoken. Not much taller than me, with a patchy beard and a pointed nose, Sykes they called him.

Wallace lifted the handheld radio. “They started looping a new feed about twenty minutes ago,” he said. “You’re all going to hear it eventually, we might as well get it over with together. As a
family
.”

The radio hissed with static as he adjusted it to the right frequency.

A familiar male reporter’s voice filled the quiet hall, where the grieving for Cara was threatening to spill over.

“… the Bureau’s office of intelligence has issued a list of five suspects thought to be in collaboration with the sniper. All bases in Region Two-fifteen have orders to post photos of these individuals in the community and offer rations passes in compensation for legitimate leads. A code one is called into effect for the following fugitives:

“John Naser, aka John Wright, religious extremist in violation with Article One. Robert Firth, former FBR captain suspected of selling arms to civilians. Patel Cho, political rights activist who escaped capture during Long Distance Explosive Device demonstrations in Red Zone One.”

I glanced across the hall to Chase, whose expression had gone grim. I hadn’t heard of Long Distance Explosive Devices, but I knew what bombs could do. I’d seen the aftermath on the news as a child.

“Aiden Dewitt, former doctor of medicine, responsible for the murders of five FBR officers during a routine home inspection.”

I remembered Dr. Dewitt. He was from Virginia somewhere and had been all the talk at the soup kitchen about five years ago after news of how he’d flipped out had reached my town. Some of the others were whispering; I guess they’d heard of him, too.

“Ember Miller, responsible for multiple counts of treason, escaped the Knoxville FBR base after faking completion approximately four weeks ago. All suspects should be considered armed and dangerous. Ending report now.”

You could have heard a pin drop the room was so quiet. The FBR reporter went on to say a few more things—roadside patrols were still posted around the city of Knoxville, more information could be found on the mainframe—then his voice faded into static, in much the same way that I wanted to fade into the floorboards of this cheap motel.

“Wow,” I heard Sean say.

“No knee-jerk responses, anyone. Got that?” Several people muttered agreement. “Jennings? Miller?” Wallace asked specifically. “You’re both grounded until further notice. That’s an order.”

Chase was right at my side, ignoring Wallace. He didn’t need to say a word. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Tucker Morris, his one-time partner, the soldier who had killed
my mother,
had broken his word and turned me in. It was the only explanation. How I could have trusted him not to rat us out in the first place, even if it did mean his precious career, now seemed a mystery.

A small sound of panic siphoned out of my airway. I blinked and saw a flash of his face—those sadistic green eyes and his perfect, golden hair. The casted arm Chase had broken and the scratches on his neck from my fingernails. I’d had the chance to kill him, to clear our names, to avenge my mother. And I hadn’t.

Words echoed in my mind. Words like
coward
.

“Don’t worry,” Billy said, trying too hard to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “No one’s going to believe a girl had anything to do with it.”

His words were like a slap to the face, and he wilted under my heated glare. For the first time that morning I noticed Riggins, standing within the surveillance room behind Wallace. His buzzed head was tilted slightly to the side, but when our eyes met he quickly glanced away.

“Here,” said Chase, pulling me by the elbow into the privacy of the supply room. He wanted me to sit down, but I couldn’t. I navigated through the boxes of stolen uniforms and food to pace near the window. It felt safer to be close to an exit.

“This is crazy, right?” said Houston, following right on Chase’s heels.

“Because you would’ve said so if you’d done those soldiers,” finished Lincoln. Billy snuck in behind him, acting as though he needed a towel.

“I’ve been here for the last month!” I erupted. “How could I
possibly
—”

“Get out,” Chase said to them.

“What? I didn’t mean…” Lincoln shuffled.

“Get.
Out
. You, too, Billy.”

“What did
I
do?” Billy whined as Chase pushed him out the door.

Alone, the room seemed too quiet. Too still. So opposite the pull within me to run, or fight, do
something
. Sweat dewed along my hairline. It felt like a great spotlight had been pointed in my direction; it was just a matter of time before every soldier in the city arrived.

Chase watched me warily, like I was a water balloon filled a little too full. It was always terrifying to see my own insanity reflected back in his cautious stance.

“What’s a code one?” My voice sounded low and unfamiliar. When he hesitated, I added, “You promised you’d tell me everything. No secrets.”

I realized it was a double standard; I hadn’t told him everything that had happened with Tucker at the base, but I didn’t care. His secret about my mom’s murder had been far more destructive than that.

“Code one means a lethal finding. They can fire on suspicion alone. They don’t have to question you. They don’t have to bring you back to the base for trial with the board.”

Everything within me dropped, pressed down by a greater gravity.

“What if they mistake someone else for me?” I whispered, horrified.

Chase grimaced, his copper face pale. “It’s bad.”

I felt my eyes widen. I could barely breathe. He reached out to touch me but I jerked away.

“Wallace is right. We have to stay,” he said between his teeth.

“
We?
I didn’t hear your name on that report!”

I didn’t know why Tucker hadn’t turned him in, too, but it didn’t matter. Everything bad the MM had ever done to us was because we’d stuck together—his torturous fights during basic training, the overhaul in which they’d arrested my mother for an Article 5 violation, the escape from the base—all because we couldn’t let each other go. Now, this fact became clearer than ever. If we stayed together, we were going to get each other killed.

I wanted him gone. At that moment I wanted him a thousand miles away from me. I wanted him at the safe house. In Tent City. In some other resistance. I couldn’t save my mother, but maybe I could still save him.

“We have to split up,” I said.

He scoffed. “Now
that
is a knee-jerk reaction.”

“They’re looking for me. You heard the report. What?” I asked when he shook his head. “I can make it just fine on my own.”

“You…” He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “Of course you can. I was there, at the base, remember? You saved my life.”

“And left how many more to die?”

It scared me how easy that decision had been. I would have let Tucker kill everyone on that base if it meant Chase would live.

His face darkened, and his forehead scrunched. His thumb kneaded his temple. “There was nothing we could have done for them.”

“Nothing? Just like with my mom, right? There was nothing you could have done.”

The words lashed out of me, as if they had been tearing at my insides for weeks. He took a step back, allowing the space between us to grow thick and solid as glass.

I swallowed an unsteady breath and tried to stand tall. “You don’t need to look out for me anymore. Things have changed. I’m not who I used to be. I don’t even
remember
who I used to be.”

He winced as though I’d struck him, and when he tried to come closer I fell back one step, then another. If he touched me I’d fall apart, and now I needed to be stronger than ever.

“Please go away,” I said. “
Please,
” I begged when his arms reached out to hold me. They dropped to his sides.

Without looking back, he stalked out of the room and disappeared down the hallway.

*   *   *

I COLLAPSED
on a box of uniforms. My chest grew so tight I could hardly breathe. I didn’t know where Chase had gone, but wherever he was, I could feel his hurt within me, magnified by my hatred for Tucker Morris, who had lied, just like I should have expected. Why was I surprised that he had turned me in? How could I ever expect my mother’s murderer to do anything right by me? Now I was stuck here, endangering everyone. I was the gasoline on a pile of sticks, and Tucker, he was the match. It was just a matter of when he would strike.

“Quite a morning.”

I jolted up again, ready to tell whoever it was to get lost until I realized it was Wallace, leaning casually against the doorjamb. The handheld radio, which never seemed to leave his grasp, swung, from his hand by the antennae like a pendulum.

My throat was too dry to answer him.

“You know, when you came here I had Billy look you up on the mainframe. I’m curious, do you know the list of accolades they have under your name?” When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Attacked a soldier during an overhaul, ran away from a rehab facility, linked to an AWOL with everything from assault with a deadly weapon to terroristic threatening. The files had you both listed as completed—dead. That’s no easy feat. The photo doesn’t do you any favors, but hey.”

The picture had been taken at the reformatory, right after they’d taken my mother. This was not the first time it had been posted on the MM’s computer database.

“Your escape from the base was just added recently. Combined with all the rest, it’s no wonder they think you’re the shooter.”

I swallowed over the lump in my throat. A couple days ago I’d felt a strange kinship with Wallace, but now, I felt just as defensive as I had the first time we’d met.

“I’m not a killer,” I said. I shouldn’t have to explain that to someone who already knew.

“That’s not what the Bureau’s saying.”

“The Bureau lies!” I shot back at him.

“Ah,” he said, smiling now. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

He turned to leave, but just before he did he stopped.

“Ember, I didn’t need your résumé on the mainframe to tell me you belong here. I knew the second you walked in the door.”

He left me fuming. I didn’t belong here, not now that every soldier in the region was looking for me. I didn’t belong anywhere. I was a danger to our cause, to Chase, to Sean and Billy. I was a danger to myself. It was just a matter of time before the MM caught me.

I spun away from the door and kicked the first thing within reach: a cardboard box. Pale blue blouses and navy pleated skirts toppled over the dirty carpet. The Sisters of Salvation uniforms Cara had brought back.

Frustrated, I grabbed a towel and escaped to the bathroom. I washed my hair with an almost frantic need to cleanse myself. I cut it to chin length, and then dyed it black with a bottle of what looked like molasses beneath the sink. Temporary color, meant to wash out so no roots would show and draw the attention of those looking for such frivolous behavior. I knew it mattered little. They had to know my appearance was subject to change, and even with a pseudonym, my photo from the reformatory was going to make it to print. Still, I had to do
something
.

I looked in the mirror at my altered reflection. At the big brown eyes that looked so much like my mother’s, and the ski-slope nose we shared. I wished now, more than ever, that I could talk to her.

*   *   *

“YOU
can’t serve them first,” the man complained. He looked like every other displaced businessman pounding the streets for work: glasses askew, tie loose, collared shirt untucked. He had a canvas tote bag slung over his shoulder and was pointing to a sheet of paper while he yelled at the soup kitchen attendant.

“See? Just look at it. That’s right, tilt your head down, that’s a good girl.”

The woman behind the counter looked like she might cry. I was five people behind the man, but the line had spread out when he’d raised his voice, and now everyone was listening.

I watched my mother hustle over from her volunteer position, outside the cold truck holding the perishable foods. She wiped her hands on her apron.

“What’s the problem, sir?” I stiffened at her tone; it was generally one step before she said something snappy.

“Oh, thank God. Someone reasonable. Look, these guys are up front getting the same rations as a family. Like they’re a
family
.”

My mother’s glance flickered to the two young men to her right. One was pulling at the other’s shoulder, saying “Come on, let’s just go, okay?” The other was red in the face and shaking his head.

“And?” Mom asked.

The man snorted. “And clearly they’re not. Look right here. Article Two. Whole families are to be considered one man, one
woman,
and children. All other combinations are not to be considered under the title
family
,” he air-quoted, “and should receive no tax, occupation, education, or health benefits otherwise.”

“Ah. The Moral Statutes.” She took the paper, and the man nodded righteously to those around him. I glared at his back while my mother read. “I don’t see anything about not receiving meal rations,” she said finally.