No Return (The Internal Defense Series) (16 page)

Sean followed. “And I’m going to use this time to make sure they can’t forget us.”

“Wait,” Becca called. But what did she have to offer them, besides more promises they wouldn’t believe?

Time seemed to slow down. Every sound became twice as loud. Their footsteps, walking away. The metallic creak of the doorknob.

And then Kara’s voice, subdued but clear. “This isn’t what you really want.”

Alia paused with her hand on the doorknob. “You think I want to spend my last few days hiding away, waiting for her to save me?” She jerked her free hand toward Becca.

“No,” said Kara. “You want the resistance. What you’re doing now is second best for both of you. A day or two to fight Internal on your own, and then execution? If that was all you wanted, you never would have joined up with Becca in the first place.”

“The resistance is dead.” Alia started to turn the doorknob again.

Becca almost responded, but thought better of it. They wouldn’t listen to her—they had already proved that. But maybe they would listen to Kara.

Kara stood up from her chair. She paced around the circle as she spoke. “I was in reeducation,” she said. “I was going to die in there—either that or end up as brainwashed as those spies. Becca Dalcourt got me out. And what about the liberation? Becca did that too. So maybe saving the resistance is impossible, but it’s not like she hasn’t done the impossible before.”

Alia didn’t let go of the doorknob. But she didn’t open the door, either.

“We’re not going to make any desperate last stands until we’re sure there’s no other option,” Kara said as she walked. “We’re going to figure this out, and then we’re going to fight, because it is
not
over yet.”

Alia dropped her hand to her side.

“If you didn’t believe in Becca, you would have left a long time ago.” Pace, circle, turn. “We’ll rescue those prisoners. We’ll send a message. All you have to do is believe in her for a little while longer.”

“You really think she can pull this off?” asked Alia.

Quiet certainty filled Kara’s voice as she answered. “I know she can.”

Alia and Sean looked at Kara, and at each other. Each waiting for the other to answer. Each waiting to see how the other would react. No one else breathed as they watched the scene unfold.

Becca bit her lip to keep from speaking.
Wait. Just wait. Let Kara handle this.

Alia spoke first. “I’m not going to wait around for them to kill me. If we don’t do anything soon, I’m gone.” She stalked back to her seat. With a sharp nod of agreement, Sean followed a second later.

“We will,” Kara promised as Becca let out her breath in relief. Across the room, some of the tension left Jared’s shoulders.

“So how do we make this work?” asked Alia. “Nothing’s changed. We still have days at most before someone gives up Peter’s name.”

Peter raised his head. His eyes, though red, no longer shone with tears. Instead they looked hollow. Dead.

“I’ll do it,” he said in a voice as dull as his eyes.

Becca didn’t have to ask him what he meant.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

His head bobbed like a puppet’s. “I’ll do it. I’ll do what you want.”

Becca bit back the protest on her lips.
This is how the resistance survives.
“Thank you,” she said instead. “We’re going to make it through this—and it will be because of you. I hope you know that.”

Peter gave another lifeless nod. He didn’t answer.

Sean clapped Peter’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “We’ll tell everyone about this someday,” he promised. “They’ll know what Internal did to you.”

“And what you did for us,” Jared murmured. “We won’t forget.”

“Is there anything you—” Becca began.

“Meeting’s over,” Peter interrupted. He held up his watch before letting his hand fall lifelessly back to his lap. “We should go.”

“We have a few minutes,” said Alia. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

“I don’t want to talk, okay?” Peter shoved his chair out behind him as he stood. “I need… I need to go.”

He hurried from the room before anyone could stop him.

* * *

“Peter?” Becca called softly as she stepped into the parking lot.

No answer. No movement. The lot was empty.

Too late. She had hurried out of the building as fast as she could, but she must have missed him anyway. And now she would never get a chance to…

To what? She didn’t know how to finish the thought. There was nothing she could do for him. Nothing she could say to make this any easier.

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe—

There.
Across the lot. Peter’s car—and inside, a figure sitting hunched over the steering wheel. His shoulders shook. As Becca watched, he wiped his eyes, then sank his head into his hands. He made no move to drive away.

Leave him. Let him go.
Micah’s voice echoed in her mind.
Let go.
But she couldn’t. Not like this. She started toward the car.

“Becca.”

Becca jumped. A second later, she recognized the voice; she turned to find Kara standing behind her, a grim expression on her face. “I need to talk to you.”

Peter’s forehead rested on the steering wheel now; he didn’t look any closer to leaving than he had a second ago. But that could change at any moment. “Can it wait?”

“No.”

Becca tore her gaze from Peter to focus on Kara. “Is this about what was bothering you in the meeting? You aren’t usually that quiet. Especially when there’s a problem to solve.”

Kara dropped her eyes as if ashamed. “Sorry about that. I won’t let it happen again. The news reports, the list, it was all so…” Her voice trailed off as she raised her eyes to Becca’s again. “I didn’t help you in there like I should have. And I’m sorry.”

“Without you, Alia and Sean would have walked away,” Becca reminded her.

“I can make up for it,” said Kara, as if Becca hadn’t spoken. “I have some ideas I want to talk to you about as soon as possible.” She glanced over at Peter. “But that can wait another day. This can’t.”

Becca followed Kara’s gaze. Peter still hadn’t moved. “Meet me at my apartment. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She turned away, toward Peter’s car.

Kara shifted to stand in front of her. “It’s about Peter.”

She has a plan. A way to save him.
But that didn’t fit the lines of Kara’s mouth, the urgency in her voice. “What is it?”

“Not out here.”

Becca nodded. She led Kara across the lot to her car, keeping her gaze locked on Peter as she opened the door and squeezed inside. He didn’t move.

Kara waited until her own door closed with a soft thunk before she spoke again. “He’s not going to do it.”

Becca turned to Kara in confusion. “You heard him in there. You heard the way he sounded.” That hadn’t been the voice of someone who planned to survive. That had been the voice of someone who had lost everything.

Kara nodded. “I heard him. And that’s how I know he’s not going to do it.”

Becca didn’t have time for riddles. “Explain.”

“In the reeducation center, I… there were a couple of times when…” Kara took a breath as she blinked away a private memory. “I know what it looks like when someone decides to die for what they believe in, or for the people they care about. They get this… this light in their eyes. This weird kind of hope. And Peter didn’t have it.”

Becca pictured the dead look in Peter’s eyes, heard the dullness of his voice. “He didn’t expect this when he came here tonight. Give him—”
Give him time,
she almost said, before remembering that he didn’t have any. “Give him a chance,” she said instead. “He’s in shock. That doesn’t mean he won’t do it.”

“You told me what happened with Meri,” said Kara. “When you talked to her—when she told you what she was planning—did she sound the way Peter did back there?”

“Peter isn’t Meri.”

“I know what I saw,” said Kara. “The reeducation center didn’t just show me what sacrifice looks like—it showed me what it looks like when someone breaks. And he broke in there.”

If Kara was comparing Peter to the people she had known in reeducation, did that mean she was accusing him of— “He’s not a spy.” She spoke before she could complete the thought. But a wisp of doubt crept into her mind. The last time she had chosen to trust somebody despite someone else’s suspicions, she had lost half the resistance.

But this was different. This was
Peter
.
He had been with the resistance longer than anyone except Meri. She knew him from more than a few surveillance reports and a ten-minute conversation in the mall. She
knew
him.

Before Becca could figure out what to say, Kara shook her head. “I don’t think he is either. He doesn’t act reeducated. Besides, they would have had to keep him at the center for a few weeks at least. You’d have noticed if he disappeared for that long.”

“He hasn’t,” Becca confirmed. But it was too early for relief. Even if Kara didn’t think Peter was a spy, she had brought this up for a reason. “So then what are you saying?”

“I don’t know. All I know is he’s not planning on sacrificing himself.” Kara sighed through her teeth. “You know him better than I do. What do you think he would do?”

“He would do what he promised,” Becca said automatically. But she couldn’t give the words conviction. Peter would never betray the resistance—but would he die for them? Was she willing to risk the resistance on his willingness to make that sacrifice?

She wished she could say yes.

“And if he didn’t?” Kara pressed.

With another denial on her lips, Becca stopped. She gave her answer with reluctance. “He would run.”

“Then that’s what we’ll plan for.” Kara gave a brisk nod, her voice turning businesslike. “Where would he go? Would he leave right away? Is there anyone he would say goodbye to first?” She tapped her fingers against the door. “Has he ever talked about an escape plan with you, or listened while you discussed it with somebody else?”

We still don’t know,
she wanted to protest.
He still might do what he promised.
But if there was the slightest chance Kara was right, they couldn’t afford not to prepare. “We have a plan in place for if one of us needs to run quickly and can’t reach the others. One of the safehouses has a couple of emergency IDs hidden there—but they’ll only work if no one looks at them too closely. They definitely won’t work now.”

She tried to push away thoughts of Peter’s arrest. Of his confession. Of the final collapse of the resistance.
It won’t happen. He won’t run. And if he does, we’ll—
She spoke aloud. “How do we stop him?”

Kara only had to think for a few seconds. “We don’t,” she said. “We help.” She drummed her fingers faster. “We get him a real identity. Something that at least gives him a chance of getting past the checkpoints. Something like Micah’s and mine, maybe, that will make him look like someone they don’t want to mess with.”

Becca shook her head. “We went over that in the meeting. It won’t be enough. Not with the lockdown.”

“If he’s going to run either way, better for him to have a small chance than no chance,” Kara pointed out.

Becca nodded, ignoring the growing tightness in her chest. “I’ll talk to him.” Hand halfway to the door, she reconsidered. “No. I’ll wait for him to leave. Then I’ll follow him. If he goes to the safehouse, I’ll tell him the plan. If he doesn’t…” If he didn’t, she would leave him in peace while he did what he had to do.

“You don’t have to wait,” said Kara, her voice suddenly tight with urgency. “He’s leaving.”

Becca brought her head up to see Peter’s car pulling out of its parking space. She turned her face away as he approached.
Don’t let him see us. Don’t let him suspect.
But he didn’t even glance in their direction. She caught only a brief glimpse of his pale face, his reddened eyes, as he drove past.

“Go,” Kara urged, low and tense. But Becca didn’t need the reminder. She already had one hand on the keys, the other on the wheel. The car rumbled to life beneath them as Peter waited to turn. And when he left the parking lot, Becca followed.

There wasn’t much chance of Peter noticing them, not in his current state. But Becca hung back anyway—close enough to keep him in sight, far enough that he shouldn’t be able to recognize her. Neither she nor Kara spoke as they trailed him through the darkened streets.

Becca slowed down as they grew closer to the turn that would lead them to the safehouse. But Peter didn’t.

Closer. Closer. Becca held her breath.

He didn’t turn.

Instead, he continued down the road that would lead him to the center of town. To his apartment.

Becca let out her breath, her body going limp with relief.
Not yet,
she told herself.
We don’t know anything yet.

“What happened?” asked Kara.

“He missed the turn for the safehouse,” Becca answered. “He’s heading for his apartment.”

“He could just be—”

“Getting his things together before he runs,” Becca finished. “I know.”

Please
, she thought.
Prove Kara wrong. Show me I was wrong to doubt you.

“Wait outside his building,” Kara advised. “Park someplace out of sight. If he leaves, start following him again.”

Becca nodded, already slowing in preparation for the turn.

But Peter kept going.

He drove past the turn. Past his apartment. Into the heart of downtown.

“Where is he—” Becca started.

She didn’t finish the sentence.

Peter’s car was slowing down.

For a moment, Becca didn’t let herself understand what she was seeing.
No,
she chanted in her mind.
No, no, no…

But Peter turned. And Becca turned with him.

Into the driveway of Investigation 212.

Peter would never betray the resistance.

Peter pulled into a parking space near the edge of the lot, far from the cameras. Becca drove up beside him.

He would never betray us.

He stepped out of the car. Started walking toward the building.

He would never—

“Becca.” Kara’s sharp voice jolted her out of her stupor.

With numb fingers, Becca opened the door. Her legs moved mechanically as she walked. She circled around to block Peter’s path before he could step onto the sidewalk. Kara came up behind him, leaving him nowhere to run.

Peter froze. His eyes widened in horror, guilt spreading across his face.

He would never betray us.

“What… what…” Peter’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “What are you doing here?”

Becca looked from him to Investigation 212, wanting to scream in his face, wanting to cry. Wanting to shake him until answers fell out, until she found an explanation that made sense. She kept her voice level—she didn’t know how—as she turned his question back on him. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I… I was…” His eyes darted back and forth, as though he would find an excuse waiting for him if only he looked hard enough.

“We can’t stay here.” The longer they stood in the parking lot, the more suspicious they would look. The cameras had probably picked them up already. Becca had angled her face away from the lenses out of habit, but that wouldn’t matter if someone at Surveillance decided to look up her license plate number. “Come with me. You can explain in the car.”

“I don’t see what there is to explain,” said Kara. “We all know what he’s doing here.”

“Shut up, Kara,” Becca snapped before she could stop herself. She took a breath. Another. Uncurled her fingers from her palms, leaving little half-moon marks behind.

I’ll figure this out. I’ll fix this.

She turned back to Peter, who was still standing white-faced and frozen in front of her. “You’re going to come with me,” she told him. “And you’re going to tell me what this is about.”

“It doesn’t—” The words came out as barely more than a puff of air. He cleared his throat. Tried again. “It doesn’t matter.” Dead eyes. Small scared voice. “It doesn’t matter,” he said again, as if he needed to convince himself. “Just go.”

Kara didn’t say anything, but Becca heard her anyway.
You already know what this is about.

“You’re going to tell me,” she repeated. She took his hand. It trembled in hers, slick with sweat. “You’re going to explain this.”

He tried to pull away. She tightened her grip. He looked over his shoulder to see Kara, arms folded across her chest, waiting for him to run.

He slumped as the fight went out of him. His hand went limp in hers. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled as he let her lead him to the car.

With her free hand, she opened the passenger-side door. She gestured to Kara; with a nod, Kara positioned herself to Peter’s other side, blocking his way back to his car. Only once the door was open, and she and Kara stood between him and escape, did she let go of his hand.

On shaky legs, he half-fell into the car. Kara slid into the seat behind him, placing a warning hand on his shoulder as Becca crossed around to the driver’s side. Once Becca started the car, Kara removed her hand, but the threat remained.

Peter gave a short whimper as the car began to move.
It’s okay,
Becca wanted to tell him.
It’s going to be okay.

“What were you doing at Investigation 212?” she asked instead.

Her mother’s voice. Her mother’s role. Another interrogation.
Give me an answer. Make this make sense. Please.

Peter hung his head. He said nothing.

“What were you doing at Investigation 212?” Louder. Harsher.

“It doesn’t matter.” His whisper had no life in it. “It doesn’t matter what I do. It doesn’t matter what any of us do. Internal beat us. It’s over.”

No. Not good enough. Tell me this isn’t what it looks like. Make me believe it.
“What were you doing at Investigation 212?” Cold and clipped this time, each word a bullet.

“They’re going to take us to 117.” More dead words. Quivering hands hid his mouth, half-trapping the sound inside. “They’re going to torture us. They’re going to kill us.”

“What were you doing at—”

“Stop!” Kara burst out. Becca’s hands jerked on the steering wheel; she steadied them just in time to keep from swerving into traffic. Kara lowered her voice. “Becca, stop. You already know.”

But Peter answered anyway.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated. “You all would have died either way.”

It was as good as a confession.

For the first time, she allowed herself to think the words. Her voice sounded as flat as Peter’s as she spoke them aloud. “You came here to turn us in.”

His silence was all the answer she needed.

Becca followed one darkened street after another, taking turns at random, only caring that the roads took her away from Investigation 212. Away from what Peter had almost done.

“Why?” she finally asked. Somehow she kept control over her voice.

“You all would have died either way,” he repeated with a tiny quaver. “What difference does it make if I give you up to Internal now or in an interrogation room later? One way or the other, it’s going to be me. You know it is. If I prove my loyalty to Internal before they can arrest me, at least one of us will survive.”

Who was this stranger willing to sacrifice Becca’s life—all their lives—to save his own? She brought her gaze up from the road to study his face. His empty eyes didn’t give her any answers.

“The resistance can survive,” she said. “I can save them.” That was all that mattered. Not his selfishness. Not his betrayal. Once she made him believe it, once she made him understand, he would change his mind, and she could forget about what had almost happened here tonight. “I can save them—if you help me.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s over. Maybe the others believed all that stuff Kara said, but I know how this is going to end.”

“It’s
not
over. Not if you help us.” She lowered her voice. “I know what I’m asking you to do. What I’m asking you to give up. But I also know what the resistance means to you.”

Another shake of his head was Peter’s only response.

All she needed was to break through this haze of despair he had wrapped around himself. She needed to reach the real Peter underneath—the kid she had recruited, the starry-eyed idealist. If she could do that, she could get him to believe.

“Do you remember the day I asked you to join the resistance?” she asked.

He looked away and didn’t answer.

“I told you the risks. I told you we’d never be able to save the world—that the most we could do was save a few people here and there. And I offered you the chance to walk away. Do you remember what you said?”

No answer.

“You said you’d prove me wrong someday. You promised me that on the day we brought down the regime for good, you’d buy me a drink and remind me of the day I told you it would never happen. No matter how many times I warned you not to expect too much, you just smiled and said you hoped I was ready for that drink.” She hadn’t realized until now how far away it all felt. How long had it been since the last time Peter had reminded her of his promise?

She fell silent and waited. Trees flew past on either side of the road as Peter’s silence echoed back to her.

“What about the time two years ago when we thought Internal had found out the truth about the support group? The others all wanted to run, but you weren’t even worried. You kept telling us to give it one more day. You and Meri got into that huge argument about it, remember? She threatened to kick you out of the resistance. But you were right. We made it.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

“You believe, Peter. Even when you shouldn’t. Even when things are at their worst.” Becca risked looking away from the road again to meet his eyes. “And now you need to believe in the resistance one more time.”

“I was wrong back then. I was a stupid kid.” Finally, Peter’s voice joined hers. But not the real Peter. Not the Peter she knew; not the one she needed. He sounded like a hollow shell of himself. “I know better now.”

“I know it looks hopeless right now. But you have more faith in the resistance than any of us. You—”

“Don’t talk to me about what I believe.” At last, a hint of emotion crept into his voice. But not hope. Anger. “I stopped believing in the resistance the day the rest of you decided to go ahead with the liberation. The day you all agreed to send someone into 117 to be tortured and killed.”

This time Becca was the one with nothing to say.

The day the rest of you decided to go ahead with the liberation.
Becca hadn’t thought about that argument in months—the giddy joy of the liberation itself, and then the devastation of the aftermath, had driven it from her thoughts. But now the meeting started to replay in her mind. Meri’s grief at the thought of sacrificing one of her own people; her carefully reasoned arguments in favor of what they were about to do. Alia and Sean’s impatience to get on with it already. And through it all, Peter’s insistence that they couldn’t do this, that this wasn’t what the resistance stood for, that nothing could be worth asking someone to give up her life for them.

They never had managed to convince him.

But the plan had worked, and Peter had celebrated along with the rest of them. Hadn’t he? She tried, but couldn’t pull up the memory of his face.

In the wake of Internal’s response to the liberation, he had all but stopped talking in resistance meetings. He never smiled anymore. But the aftermath had hit everyone hard. And despite the danger, despite the fear, Peter’s idealism hadn’t wavered. He had—

He—

There was that time when—

She couldn’t find a memory to complete the thought.

But they were there. Somewhere. She remembered. She
knew
him.

Her inner protests rang as hollow as Peter’s voice.

She stared at the road ahead, but no longer saw it. She turned without knowing where the next street led. Without caring.
It doesn’t matter.
She didn’t know whether the voice in her mind belonged to Peter or herself.

How had she missed this? How had she not seen?

Her evaluation training had failed her again. First with Ryann, now with Peter, she had seen only what she wanted to see. She had spent the past year doing to Peter what the rest of the country did to her mom. What her mom had done to her for the past five years. She had looked right through him to the imagined figure she had propped up in his place. A role, a memory. An illusion.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet.

Peter shrugged. “It’s not like it matters now.”

“You’re one of my people,” said Becca. “It matters.”

“I can’t do it.” Peter’s voice was weak, but steady. “I can’t die for something I don’t believe in.” He looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry.”

Becca had nothing left to say. No arguments he would listen to, no assurances he would believe. The time for all that had been a year ago.

When she had made him get in the car with her, she hadn’t let herself think this far ahead. She hadn’t allowed herself to look beyond their conversation to what would come after. But now they had talked, and they had gotten nowhere, and she was left with a traitor beside her and a choice to make.

And then she realized where the roads had taken her.

Becca shot a quick glance toward the backseat, waiting—hoping—for Kara to protest. But she received only a nod of confirmation in return.

Becca pulled over.

Peter frowned in confusion. “Why are we…” His voice trailed off as he looked out the window. As he took in the stretch of empty road, the trees to either side. The curve up ahead that, if Becca followed it, would lead to 117.

“Wait,” said Peter. “This is…” His frown deepened. “What are we doing here?”

She didn’t know whether she was talking to him or to herself as she spoke. “I have to save the resistance.” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s.

“What are you—” Peter stopped midsentence, mouth still open, as understanding hit him. Becca watched it happen. Watched him flinch as if from a physical blow. Watched as terror animated his once-empty face.

“I have to protect them. I promised them I would protect them.” Something salty touched her tongue. She wiped her eyes; her hands came away wet.

She never cried in front of the resistance.

But it didn’t matter now. It didn’t matter.

“Please.” Panic brought life back into Peter’s voice. “I’ll do what you want, I’ll… I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

It wasn’t Becca who reached across Peter’s lap to the glove compartment. It wasn’t Becca who pulled out the gun. It was the resistance leader. It was her mother.

Peter’s gaze followed the gun as if magnetized. He made a noise low in his throat.

It wasn’t her.

With a panicked whimper, Peter lunged for the door.

The weight of the gun seemed to glue Becca’s hand to her lap. An inch at a time, a second at a time, she raised it.

I will fix this.

A cry of fear left Peter’s lips as he wrestled with his seatbelt. The clasp came loose, and Peter launched himself from the car, slamming the door behind him.

I will protect the resistance.

Becca stumbled from the car after him. The gun weighed her down like an anchor. Like a broken promise.
I won’t kill you.
An hour ago, she had meant it. An hour ago, she hadn’t known what Peter would do if she let him go. How thoroughly he would betray them.

Ahead of her, Peter ran for the woods, his strides panicked and clumsy. His foot caught on a root, and he tumbled to the ground. With a strangled cry, he righted himself, and began limping toward the place where the trees looked thickest.

I promised them I would protect them.

“Peter,” she called.

She hadn’t expected him to stop. But he did. He spun to face her, darting his terrified eyes from her face to the gun and back again.