that my answer would determine how he would punish my assailant.
“Chase, that’s Sean! I know him!” I said. “It’s okay!
“What I saw didn’t look okay,” he answered.
“Man, let me up!” Sean’s voice was muffled by the filthy alley floor. He cried out as his shoulder popped. “I’m not FBR!”
“I know,” said Chase. “Your weapon isn’t standard issue.” He turned the gun to look at it. I looked at it too. It was black, whereas Chase’s had been silver.
I realized what Chase must have thought when he’d seen me pressed against the wall. It was the same thing he’d feared when Rick and Stan had told me to get in the car with them.
“Chase, let him up.” I was shaking.
“I was just trying to tell her it was me!” Sean pleaded. “She almost knocked my head off!”
“That’s what happened,” I agreed quickly.
Chase looked my way, reading my eyes for truth. After a moment he nodded, but he didn’t look happy about releasing his captive.
“Don’t touch her,” he warned Sean. His fury did not immediately abate, and he did not release the gun. “Why’d you start the riot?”
Sean stood indignantly, wiping off his face with his shirtsleeve.
“Because that was today’s mission. Steal from the rich, give to the poor. Now later, when the real FBR shows up and doesn’t give away extra rations, the people get pissed off enough to take them down.”
Sean had joined the resistance. The thoughts began racing through my mind. The uniform truck, stolen here, in Tennessee. The sniper. Were his people responsible for that too? Maybe Sean was who we had been looking for! Maybe he would even know the carrier.
Chase helped me up, placing his thumb on my chin and gently turning my face from side to side to check for damage.
Sean watched us curiously. “I saw you in the square. I followed you and
“—and waited until she was alone,” Chase growled. Sean took a step back.
“Yeah,” said Sean. “Can you blame me?” He waved his arms at Chase.
“Be nice, both of you,” I said.
Chase took a step toward him. Sean balked.
“They discharged me after that night I helped you,” Sean said quickly. “I came here to find Becca.”
“What?” I tried to get closer, but Chase stopped me. “She’s here? With you?”
“She’s inside. In the base. Where they hold all the prisoners awaiting trial. Or didn’t you know?” he said between his teeth, blue eyes flashing.
“I didn’t know,” I swallowed, reliving the last moments I had seen Rebecca Lansing. “They took her away. I didn’t know where.”
Sean watched me speculatively. I knew he wanted to believe me, but he was wary to trust. I wondered how he’d found out Rebecca had been taken here. Did the resistance know? Did they have access to MM records? Would they know about my mother?
“We don’t have time for this,” Chase said. “The safe house
Sean looked from Chase to me and then out into the square, where the people still rioted.
“It’s almost curfew.” He shoved his arms across his chest and shook his head. “You’d better come with me. I know the guy who makes that run. He’s leaving in a couple days. I’ll take you to him just as soon as you tell me about Becca.” He snorted cynically. “You help me, and I’ll get you out. Just like old times, right, Miller?”
I avoided Sean’s accusing stare, and then Chase’s as well. It occurred to me Chase had no idea what was going on, what I’d done. My stomach curdled with guilt.
“I’d just as soon leave you, but I have a feeling that’s not going to fly, is it?” he said to Chase.
Chase cast him a hard look and turned to me. “It’s your call.”
I realized this was the first time he’d left the decision solely in my hands. My eyes turned to the ex-soldier in the stolen uniform. Going with Sean seemed more dangerous, but it was a risk we needed to take in order to find the carrier. Besides, I owed him information about Rebecca. It was the least I could do for the trouble I’d caused them.
I nodded reluctantly.
SEAN shed the uniform behind the Dumpster, revealing the shabby civilian clothes beneath, and stuffed it into a black trash bag, which he threw over his shoulder like the other transients who carried their worldly possessions on their backs. We followed him down the alleyway in silence. After several blocks of turns and obvious backpedaling, we came to an old brick motel called the Wayland Inn.
It was a downtrodden place—somewhere I would have avoided even if it hadn’t been deserted. Overgrown ivy snaked up the side of the building, and every other window was boarded up, but there was no evidence of graffiti here, as there was on the other abandoned buildings around. This place had been left alone.
The light was fading, twilight bringing a pearly hue to the gathering clouds. We crossed the open street hastily, scanning for patrol cars, and ducked in through a single glass door.
Clouds of white dispersed in the room as the evening air blew in after us. The room stank of nicotine, which emanated from a drooping cigarette in the mouth of an orange-haired man behind the counter. Cigarettes were luxuries most people couldn’t afford. I wondered if he was part of the resistance, too.
As if to answer my question, Sean dug in his pocket, removed a pack of unfiltered Horizons brand cigarettes, and placed them on the counter. The clerk’s ruddy brows rose, and a smug look slid over his face. He offered a slight tilt of his head, which was enough to indicate he wouldn’t ask questions, and we crossed over the stained red carpet without another word.
Lying across the floor in front of the stairway was a man in tattered rags. Long dreadlocks hung like dead snakes over his shoulders. His eyes were heavily lidded. As we approached, he clambered up and gave us a suspicious glare. I could smell the sweat and alcohol wafting off of him.
I skirted around him into the stairwell, where Sean had stopped.
“Is this where we meet the carrier?”
Sean shook his head.
A moment later, the drunk from the hallway slithered in, straightening to his full height once the exit door shut completely. As he neared us, I could tell that he wasn’t drunk at all; the lights in his eyes were too focused, and his movements were unhindered.
“Wallace know they’re coming?” he asked Sean in a gruff voice.
“Yeah. Of course,” Sean responded. Then he gave Chase a sidelong glance. “He’s going to frisk your girlfriend. Try not to beat the hell out of him.”
I felt my face heat up at the title, but no one, including Chase, seemed to notice.
Whoever Wallace was, he couldn’t have known we were here; my presence in the square had taken Sean by surprise. I didn’t want to maintain a lie I knew nothing about, but I stayed silent.
The bouncer patted down Chase first, then me. It was done quickly and efficiently, but I still felt violated when his hands stroked my legs and waist. When he reached into my pocket to take Chase’s six-inch pocket knife, I jerked back sharply.
“You can collect this later if Wallace says so,” he informed me. He searched the bag and removed the baton and the MM radio. “These too,” he added, shoving the items into his jacket and slinking back into the hallway to resume his watch.
“Who’s Wallace?” I asked as we climbed the metal stairs. They made a bright
“He runs the operation here. He’s not the carrier, before you ask. That guy goes by Tubman. And it’s too late to drag you across town to his checkpoint.”
“So what is this place then?” I asked, deflated, but still edgy.
