Outbreak (28 page)

The drifters have probably abandoned our trail by now, but we don’t waste any time charting a straight course toward town.

Now that the adrenaline rush is over, I realize I’m hot and thirsty again. Harper seems to be slowing down, too, but I’m reluctant to stop out here in the middle of nowhere without cover.

“Just a little bit farther,” I say.

Harper nods, always willing to go along with my terrible plans.

To distract myself from the sweltering heat, I focus on what I’m going to say to Owen when I see him. There’s no way he’s going to agree to my plan without putting up a fight. Owen is as stubborn as I am, and faking his own death means he would have to leave the area.

The thought gives me a pang of sorrow. If Owen does leave, there’s a good chance I’ll never see him again. I’d never want him to put himself at risk just so we could stay within close proximity of each other, but it’s still hard to accept the fact that I’m going to have to mourn his loss all over again. 

Anyway, what sort of relationship could we hope to have if he stayed? Owen is a drifter. There’s no way around it.

My sad train of thought is interrupted by the first signs of civilization: a sagging barbed-wire fence, a defunct telephone pole, and a shredded plastic bag blowing in the breeze. 

Scrubby desert bushes jut up against a dry, desolate field, and there’s a narrow road leading off to a few warehouse-style farm buildings in the distance.

We step over the collapsed fence and make our way down into the shallow canyon where the town is situated. The farther down we walk, the greener the land becomes. Clumps of trees pop up along the side of the road, and a city starts to take shape.

We pass a partially demolished filling station that’s missing half its pumps and slowly approach the main thoroughfare. 

We pass an old pizza parlor, a nail salon, and a tavern that looks as if it’s seen better days. Most of the store windows are still intact, and several abandoned cars line the streets as though the owners just ran into the bank for a few minutes. 

There’s something odd about the cars, though. While the shop windows are covered in a thick layer of dirt and grime, the cars are relatively clean.

I glance around the street. Nothing.

I walk toward an ancient BMW and peer inside. The backseat is completely stuffed: Old laundry hampers are overflowing with blankets and clothes and cooking supplies. On the floorboards, I spot boxes of ammunition and jars of what looks like food.

Somebody was living out of this car recently. Harper seems to come to the same conclusion, and we both draw our handguns.

The drifters are nearby — we just don’t know where.

Then I hear voices echoing off the concrete, growing louder with each passing second.

Harper throws me an apprehensive look, but we keep moving down the street at a crouch. 

As we near the end of the block, I can hear the voices as clearly as if the speakers were standing right next to us.

There’s only a rundown sandwich shop between us and the drifters, with large picture windows on each side to provide a panoramic view of the street.

I press my face against the glass and squint through the shop to get a look at the people on the adjacent street, but I can’t see anyone.

Harper and I exchange another look, and I step around the corner.

Five or six drifters are standing between a beat-up tan Buick and an old white Ford Taurus less than twenty yards away. I hadn’t been able to see them standing on the other side of the shop, but if one of them so much as glances over at the little brick building, we’re as good as dead. I can feel the warmth radiating from Harper’s body, and I reach back to pull her behind me.

The drifters are engrossed in a heated argument, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Half of the conversation is in Spanish, with a string of English words thrown in here and there.

Two men standing in the middle seem to be causing the problem — an older guy with coppery skin, long black hair, and heavy eyes, and a tall man I can’t quite make out.

The fight seems to reach a breaking point, and the second man scoffs and shoves past the others.

My heart stops. I want to grab Harper and get the hell out of here, but as soon as the drifter in the middle shows his face, I know that isn’t going to be possible.

Owen looks different from the last time I saw him — older, darker, and meaner. Only his eyes look exactly the same.

He glances over at the sandwich shop, and for a moment, he seems to stare right through me. Then his gaze narrows.

He shakes his head once, and I know that means we need to move. I back up, bump into Harper, and nearly send both of us crashing through the large shop window. 

Finding her hand, I pull her back around the corner in the direction we came. She drags her feet, but I quicken my pace until we’re both running at a full-out sprint.

“Eli! Where are we going?”

“Away from here!”

“But Owen —”

“We can’t get near him now. We’re just going to have to lay low for a bit.”

“But —”

“Just trust me on this.”

“I do, but —” Harper lets out a note of exasperation and yanks back her arm to force me to stop. “We can’t stay here!”

I glance up at the sparse buildings on the block. She’s right, of course. They’re all one- and two-story brick structures that don’t offer much cover, and any one of them could be the drifters’ home base.

Unsure what to do, I pull her into the tiny alleyway between Tasty Bakery and an antiques store, breathing hard and trying to formulate a plan. Then, without warning, a blurry figure in a gray baseball cap shoots around the corner. My hand tightens on my gun, but he’s on top of us before I can even react.

In one rough motion, Owen throws out an arm and slams me bodily against the brick wall.

“What — are you —
doing here
?” he snarls.

I cough, shocked by the sudden pressure on my throat and the fact that Owen is standing right in front of me.

“That isn’t an answer, little brother . . .” he says in the taunting voice he used to reserve for when he was beating me at video games.

This close, I can see every piece of stubble along his jawline and a few unfamiliar lines around his eyes. Owen may be my brother, but right now he’s looking at me the way I’d look at a drifter — like something repulsive that must be dealt with.

Before I can catch my breath, Harper lets out a low growl. I don’t see her pounce, but there’s a minor scuffle in the vicinity of my right elbow, and her ponytail whips me in the face.

I try to move my head to see what she’s doing, but as soon as I change positions, the pressure of Owen’s forearm against my windpipe intensifies.

Then a fist flies out of nowhere and connects with Owen’s temple. It’s an impressive punch, but he’s a big guy. All it takes is one medium-sized push, and he sends Harper careening right into the brick wall.

Ouch
. That does it.

Grabbing my brother around the neck, I use the leverage to drive a knee up into his stomach. He grunts and doubles over, but before I can put any real distance between us, he shoots forward again and pins me against the wall with both hands.

I’ve still got one arm extended to keep him from really laying into the choke, but the other is wedged between my body and a rusty pipe.

“Let — go — of him — you fucking —
asshole
!” Harper growls, punctuating each word with a vicious kick to the kneecap.

She’s mad he got the best of her, and now she’s gonna make him pay.

“Fuck! All right!” he snarls, gritting his teeth and letting go. 

The pressure on my windpipe disappears, and I cough.

As soon as I’m free, Harper jumps between us and shoves Owen against the opposite brick wall. He looks momentarily stunned by her ferocity, and I take the opportunity to regain my voice.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I hiss.

Owen looks annoyingly surprised. “What the hell is wrong with
me
? What the hell is wrong with
you
?” 

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not here,” he snaps. “In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take her and get the hell out of town right now.”

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Eli.”

“The hell it isn’t!” I yell. “I’m deep in some fucked-up shit right now, and it all has to do with you.”

“You wanna talk about fucked-up shit?” Owen snarls. “How about I come by the compound and pretend to be you? Because that’s
my
life right now, Eli. That’s the shit I’m dealing with.”

“I’m sorry about that, okay? But you need to listen.” 

“You shouldn’t have come here at all!”

“We didn’t have a choice,” says Harper.

Owen shoots her a dirty look, but I step between them. “You need to come with us.”

He scoffs and turns away, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t be seen talking to you. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if they knew we were even having this conversation? I’d be shot on sight.”

“Well, you’re gonna be shot regardless if you don’t listen.”

I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but at least I’ve got his attention. He’s pacing in a tight circle like a caged lion.

“I can’t do this right now,” he sighs. “Meet me at the rocks after dark. There’s a cliff you can climb up that’s pretty protected from the desert patrols.”

He points in the direction of the rock formation we just came from.

“We’ve been there,” I mutter.

“Then go now. Turn around and walk away. I’ll meet you there.”

“How do I know you’ll do it?” I ask. “How do I know you’re not just gonna cut out of town as soon as we leave?”

“I said I’ll be there, Eli.” 

From the tone of his voice, I can tell the discussion is over. He’s got Dad’s stubbornness and Mom’s abrasiveness, which is a really annoying personality combo.

Our eyes lock, and I realize I have no choice but to take his word for it.

“All right,” I sigh. “We’ll be there.”

“Fine.”

Owen turns and leaves without so much as a backward glance, and I feel my whole body deflate.

Letting him walk away feels like the wrong decision. I don’t know if he’ll keep his word, but I have no choice but to believe him.

“Do you think he’ll be there?” Harper asks as we make our way slowly back through town.

“I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. I used to know my brother as well as I know myself. I could always tell what he was thinking and predict with stunning accuracy when he was going to get into a fight or sneak into the woods after dark.

But this Owen — drifter Owen — is a completely different person, and I don’t know him at all.

twenty-three

Harper

The trip back to the rock formation feels a lot shorter than our walk into town. Maybe it’s because we found Owen or because we’re both deep in thought, but the steep rocks are right in front of us before we know it.

I have a bad feeling that Owen is going to stand us up, but I don’t share these thoughts with Eli. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing, which makes me feel indescribably sad. Eli found Owen after believing his entire family was dead, only to discover that his brother is completely different from the boy he grew up with.

We take our time climbing up to a small overlook on the west side of the cliff. We’ve got nothing to do but wait, and I’m in no hurry to sit in awkward silence.

Getting our tire blown out, running from the drifters, free-climbing, and finding Owen distracted me from the argument we were having in the rover, but once things settle down, I know all that hurt and humiliation are going to come rushing back.

We reach the overlook too soon, and Eli lays down a blanket and busies himself in his rucksack.

I sit down, and the full force of my fatigue hits me all at once. My shoulders and legs ache from climbing and running, and my sunburn makes my skin feel too small for my face. 

Eli passes me a water bag and then sits down and starts jiggling his foot to a nervous rhythm.

“He’ll be here,” I say.

“I wish I believed that.”

“
He’ll be here
,” I repeat.

Eli groans and rubs both hands over his face in frustration. “I just need this plan to work. I can’t live like this anymore.”

I turn to look at him, surprised by his choice of words.

“Like what?”

Eli sighs and shakes his head. “Scared shitless all the time. Being in there . . . wondering if he’s still alive . . . being out here . . . wondering how
we’re
still alive. Worrying that you’ve been hurt by Constance every time you don’t answer your interface . . . It’s brutal. I can’t take it anymore.”

I want to be angry with Eli for lying to me, but his words tug at my heart. And when I chance a look over at him, it’s as though something has shifted between us.

Eli is staring at me with such fierce protectiveness that I suddenly understand why he put in the request for a new partner. He could have told me a hundred times that he only did it for my benefit, but I wouldn’t have believed him until now.

“I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” he says in a husky voice.

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

He throws me a skeptical look. “You can’t promise that — you of all people. I thought maybe we’d actually get out of Recon, you know? I thought if we just went to 119, maybe things would be different.” He lets out a disappointed sigh. “But that’s not going to happen.”

“Things can still be different.”

“How?”

I shake my head, desperately trying to find something positive to latch on to. “I don’t know . . . but we’re different.”

He raises an eyebrow in bewilderment, and I feel my face turn red.

“I just mean . . . you and I would never have been sitting here having this conversation a few months ago.”

He concedes with a smile, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “I guess you’re right.”