Peter runs over to eat with us, squeezing in between Lucas and Wes, and they both rumple his hair. I give him a plate with chicken and he thanks me, smiling.
While he eats he lays his treasures on the blanket: rocks smooth and pale from the waves beating against them, a white seashell, curved and hollow. Lucas shifts through them, pointing to a dark rock with lighter-colored stripes. “I like this one best.”
“Me too,” Peter says, though I know he would have agreed regardless. Lucas is a lot like Tim, I realize, and it’s not just their build—both a little stocky with light eyes and broad shoulders. Lucas is just as easygoing, just as comfortable in his kindness.
“I’m still hungry.” Lucas reaches for the basket, but Mary holds out an apple.
“Here.”
“Feed it to me?” He bends his head close to her, opening his mouth wide.
“You have arms, don’t you?” She tosses the fruit at his face and he catches it right before it connects with his nose.
“Oh, I have arms.” He throws the apple to the side and lunges at Mary.
“Get away!” she shrieks as they topple over into the sand. “Ahh! Lydia! Save me!”
I do not move from the blanket. “Peter, go rescue your aunt.”
Peter jumps to his feet and hurls his tiny body onto Lucas’s back. “Get off her.” He giggles.
“You’re like a monkey!” Lucas shouts, sitting up with the smaller boy clinging to his neck.
Mary sits up too, patting at her hair and glaring at Lucas. “It took me two hours to set these curls, and now look at them. You’re a menace, Clarke.”
“And you’re beautiful, even covered in sand.” He leans forward and pecks her on the cheek, Peter still hanging off his shoulders.
“Oh stop.” Mary waves her hand in the air, her face tinted pink.
Lucas pries Peter away, setting the boy to the side. “Eat more food,” he commands.
“Don’t wanna.” Peter jumps up and runs to the water’s edge to look for shells.
I watch him lean his face close to the sand, and then my gaze wanders over to Wes’s shack, to his rundown truck, to the dunes above us.
My body goes solid.
“What is it?” Wes whispers into my ear, too quiet for Lucas or Mary to hear.
“On the dunes. Something reflected the sun. I think someone’s watching us.”
Wes scans the ridge above us. “There’s nothing there.”
“I’m sure I saw it.”
“It could have just been a shell, or a piece of glass.”
“What if it’s a recruit? What if they sent someone to find us?” I breathe the words.
“There’s no way. Don’t worry.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Mary asks.
“Nothing.” I force myself to relax, and Wes squeezes my side. He’s right. It was probably nothing. Trying to shake the uneasy feeling, I hold up a raspberry and his lips close around my fingers. Our eyes meet and I remember how it felt last night when those same lips grazed my neck, when he whispered in my ear. I glance away, clearing my throat.
Mary is watching from across the blanket and she rolls her eyes. “You do not get to take up all of Lydia’s time.” She points her finger at Wes. “I haven’t seen her in almost a year and we have so much to catch up on, and we need to—well, no offense, Lydia, but we need to fix that hair of yours. It is so old-fashioned; I mean, honestly.”
Wes chokes on the raspberry and I hand him a root beer. When he has taken a long sip he grins at Mary. “I promise I won’t occupy her all the time.”
But Mary and I will only have time together if Wes and I succeed tomorrow. If we are caught in the Facility, it’s all over. We have one shot at destroying the TM, and we can only hope we don’t destroy ourselves in the process. Wes feels my shoulders tense and he moves even closer, resting his chin on the top of my head.
Mary smiles, missing the stiff way I’m holding my body, and I do my best to smile back. I will not be afraid on our last day together, not when we are on this deserted beach, the sun high and bright overhead, and people I love sitting right in front of me. They are gifts, moments like these, and I have learned not to waste them.
When we are driving back from East Hampton, the supplies for the bombs in the truck bed behind us, I turn to face Wes. “I think I have an idea,” I say.
He glances at me, his hands loose on the steering wheel. “What is it?”
“In order to save those kids, we need to draw attention to the Facility, right? We need civilians there. It’s the only way to make sure the scientists and officers who are involved can’t cover up what’s happening.”
“How will we get people out there?” He sounds thoughtful. “It’s pretty far in the woods, and not many civilians go near the army camp.”
The windows are partially down, and air whips through the small space. I move closer to Wes. So he can hear me better, I tell myself, ignoring the half grin he gives me.
“Dr. Bentley goes to Camp Hero every day to work in the hospital.” I almost have to shout over the wind. “You know he wouldn’t be involved in any kind of cover-up, and if he brought the other doctors with him to the Facility, there’d be too many people for the Project to keep quiet.”
“But how are we going to get him out there? And when?”
“Tomorrow morning. At first light.”
We are both silent for a minute. It is only hours from now, but it will give us more than enough time to make the bombs and map out how we’ll get in and out of the Facility. I’ve been having fun, reconnecting with Wes and the Bentleys, but I can’t forget
