Article 5

shocked by the amount of cash he’d been carrying.

“I worked for it,” he told me snidely before I could ask. “Soldiers collect pay. It’s a regular job.”

“It’s hardly a regular job,” I grumbled.

I placed the supplies on the floor while Chase filled up the truck. Among the groceries— peanut butter, bread, and other staples—was a chocolate bar with almonds. Had he remembered that this was my favorite kind of candy? Probably not. He didn’t do things out of the kindness of his heart anymore. Still, it seemed too frivolous to be anything but a peace offering.

It only took him a few moments of connecting the exposed wires beneath the wheel before the truck thrummed to life again. As we pulled onto the street, I stared out the back window at the Missing Persons board, in grim awe of how my life had changed. My freedom from the MM’s clutches had come with a stifling loss. I would never be able to walk around in the open again.

* * *

CHASE flipped on the MM radio. A man with a cool, flat voice was talking.

“…another FBR vehicle stolen outside Nashville earlier today from the parking lot of a textile plant. The truck contained uniforms to be shipped to bases throughout Tennessee. No eyewitnesses. Rebel activity suspected. Any suspicions should be reported to command.”

“Who is he?” I whispered to Chase, as though the speaker might hear me.

“A reporter for the FBR. He does a newscast for the region every day. They cycle through it at the top of the hour.”

“Are there lots of rebels?” I liked the idea of people striking against the MM. I wondered what they planned to do with the uniforms.

“Occasionally someone gets it in their head to steal a rations truck, but not often,” he informed me. “Mostly it’s just anarchy. Ripping up the Statutes, attacks on soldiers, mob riots. Things like that. Nothing that can’t be managed.”

I frowned at his confidence. There had been a time he was much like the people he now denigrated.

“The overhaul of Kentucky, West Virginia, and Virginia is nearly complete. Oregon, Washington, Montana, and North Dakota will be overhauled beginning June one, with estimated compliance by September….”

Anticipating my questions, Chase explained that an overhaul was when the MM systematically went through a city’s census to weed out Article violators.

“It’s what they did to you,” he said.

For a fraction of a moment his eyes flickered with pain, and I found myself glad that some part of him felt guilty for what he had done. The mention of the arrest had triggered my hands to fist in anger, and I had been fighting the urge to hit him again.

“It’s a tedious process,” he continued. “It takes a lot of manpower. All records—medical, employment, anything you can think of—are reviewed. Anyone who’s not in compliance with the Statutes is subject to sentencing, or is automatically sequestered.”

“Sequestered?” I felt as if I were talking to a stranger rather than someone I’d known my whole life.

“Put into federal custody. Like you were.”

“What happened to tickets and fines?” I remembered the night we’d received a citation for an old pre-War fashion magazine my mother had hidden under her mattress. “Lewd Materials,” the sheet had said. “Paper Contraband— $50.00”.

“They’re history. No one can pay them.”

I’d complained about this to him when he’d come home from Chicago. I hadn’t at the time considered that this would be the alternative, or that Chase would be a part of it.

We listened to a list of missing persons. I held my breath, but my name was not spoken. Chase’s forged documents had worked. Brock still believed I was on an overnight pass. When the report ended, Chase flicked off the radio.

Dusk was imminent; the sky had already tapered to a dull gray. I sighed apprehensively. We were going to have to look for a place to stop for the night, which meant the hours we could be traveling would instead be spent hiding somewhere just over the Pennsylvania border. It seemed like an insurmountable waste.

A road sign appeared on the right. The white paint stood out in sharp contrast to the metallic background.

RED ZONE

I could feel Chase tense across the cab.

“What’s a Red Zone?” I hadn’t heard the term before.

“Evacuated area. Like Baltimore, DC, all the surrounding cities. Yellow Zones house FBR bases. Red Zones are deserted.”

It struck me just how small my world at home had been.

“This is new,” he added. It was clear from his tone that he hadn’t intended to cross into an evacuated zone on our way to the carrier.

As we neared the sign, a car, hidden behind a tangle of brush, was revealed.

A blue car. With a flag and a cross on the side.

All at once, every nerve in my body screamed danger. We couldn’t stop and turn around, because it was too late. Though Chase was driving the speed limit, the MM highway patrol pulled out onto the road behind us.

A moment later the bar of lights on the cruiser’s roof flashed to life and a loud siren pierced the air.

CHAPTER 6

CHASE swore. Loudly.

My mind raced through the possibilities. Brock had figured out what had happened. Chase had underestimated his time before the MM came after him. We’d been seen together at the gas station.

This couldn’t be happening. We had to get to South Carolina. My mother was waiting for us.

“Can you outrun them?” My question was met with a withering look. “Go!” I shouted.

“Ember, listen. Reach in the bag behind the seat. There’s a weapon in the bottom zippered pouch. Give it to me,” Chase ordered.

I hesitated.

“Now!”

I jerked upright and stuffed my hand as smoothly as I could into the pack.

“Easy,” he cued.

“I know.” Anyone behind us would be able to see through the back window of the cab. My fingers found the zipper. I pulled it aside, feeling something solid and cold rest against my palm.

“Oh…” A knot lodged in my throat.

“Hurry up,” he said sharply.

Very slowly, I pulled the handgun over the seat, hiding it from the window with my arm. I dropped it on the leather between us, retracting my hand immediately. Without the holster covering it, the exposed gun looked lethally ominous. The way it had looked in the woods, aimed at my chest.

Chase must have removed it at the gas station when he’d changed. He hid it now in his belt, beneath his flannel shirt.

“If I tell you to run, do it,” he said. “Go straight into the woods and don’t look back. Do not, under any circumstances, let them find you.”

I shuddered. I’d suspected that I would be thrown back into rehab if I was found, but Chase’s tone scared me. It insinuated something far worse.