Sovereign (Sovereign Series) (27 page)

Get
it together
,
I yell inside my head. 
Don’t get
caught.

I
shake my head and lay my cheek against Dylan’s back, listening to his
heartbeat.  It’s fast, but it’s steady, so I focus on it.  I time one breath to
every three beats of his heart.  I think every four or five beats would be
better, but I’m not relaxed enough. 

Calm
down
,
I tell myself, as the first set of boots
enters the boy’s bedroom, easily close enough to hear the beating of my heart
and raging blood inside my veins.  Surely.

The
man walks all around the room and I wish I could see what he’s doing, see what
he’s looking at.  Know if he’s onto us. 

As
the steps grow nearer to the closet, Dylan releases my hand that’s holding the
gun.  I adjust my grip around it, sliding my index finger over the trigger.  I
hold it straight up and down, afraid that if I stick it straight out the man
will see it. 

I
hear heavy breathing in front of me and squeeze Dylan, willing him to stop, but
when Dylan squeezes me back, I realize the breathing is not his.  I draw my
head away from Dylan’s back just an inch or two so I can hear better, and be
ready to lean around him if I have to aim and fire.

 Objects
on the floor of the closet scoot around, I assume the guard is pushing them
with his feet since his breathing still comes from the space in front of
Dylan.  Abruptly, hangers and clothes are shoved into Dylan knocking him off
balance.  He leans into me, his whole body tensed, and I push against the wall
behind me to keep him standing.  If we fall and make noise, we’re caught. 

When
the hangers shift in the other direction, I realize the soldier was checking
the cavity to the right, and now he’s starting toward the left, toward
us
.

 I
tilt the gun forward and begin to lean around Dylan’s shoulder to see, when a
voice calls out.  “They were here.  Not long ago.” 

“What
did you find?” the soldier in our closet calls back without moving away from
us. 

“Bloody
clothes.  Water on the floor.”

From
somewhere downstairs, another soldier shouts, “There’s a broken window across
the street.” 

At
that, the man jogs away from us and down the stairs.  “Let’s go.”  His voice
reverberates throughout the structure.

I
wait another minute or two before releasing a long exhale and lowering my
weapon.  I tuck it in the back of my waistband as Dylan scoots forward a
little.  It gives me just enough space to cover my face with both hands,
digging my fingertips into my forehead and pressing as hard as I can to exert
the energy pent up in my arms.

I
feel Dylan turn toward me.  He grabs my wrists and pries my hands from my
face.  I blink, and throw my head against his chest, wrapping both arms around
him and squeezing as tightly as I can.  So tightly it hurts the wounds on my
chest, but I doubt it hurts him, so I don’t stop.

He
runs his hand over the back of my head, whispering, “Shhh.  It’s okay,” like
I’m four-years-old again and just saw a savage for the first time.

It
dawns on me that we haven’t come across a savage and I haven’t even considered
the possibility that we might.  And we never saw a single animal in the woods,
only one insect.  I know some animals still exist.  But do savages?

“They’re
gonna catch us,” I whimper.  “What are we doing?  What are we even thinking?”

He
pulls me away from his chest to look at my face and for a split second it makes
me angry to part with the contact.  “We’re surviving, Cori,” he whispers. 
“We’re gonna be fine.  Okay?”

“I
don’t even know where we’re going.  And they’re on our trail at every turn. 
And for the love of God, why do you keep cramming me into dark, tiny spaces?”

Dylan’s
fingers drift to my face and he pushes my jagged bangs, tucking them behind my
ear.  “I want to make it.  To survive this.  Don’t you?”

“Of
course, I do,” I answer, jarred by the question.

“Then
let’s do it.  Let’s make it.  I’ve never known you to give up on something.  So
don’t.”  He kisses my forehead, right between my eyebrows.  “We’ll find
whatever it is you’re looking for.” 

I
soak in what he’s saying, but it just makes me realize, he never questioned me
to begin with.  He never asked where we were headed or why.  I never even told
him about the incident with the other colony, which is what we really are
trying to find.  But he never knew that, he just followed my lead blindly.  He
just trusted me.  I haven’t earned that.

I
speak as softly as I can.  “They’ll kill us, I know they will.  I watched them
slaughter an entire convoy.”

“I’m
sorry you had to see that.”  He ponders for a moment, and hesitates to speak a
few times.  I meet his eyes, anxious to hear whatever it is he’s not saying. 
He rubs the tops of my arms, gently.  “They wouldn’t kill you.  Me, maybe, but
not you.” 

I
furrow, confused, because this is exactly opposite what I thought.  He has to
be wrong.  He’s just trying to comfort me.

“You’re
important to them,” he whispers. 
Important?
 
No.  I’m a tangled mess of horrible, unstable, undesirable
traits.  What else could they possibly value?  Nothing. 
Yes, he’s trying to
comfort me.

I
stare into the darkness of the closet, pondering things I’d rather have left
behind in Antius.  “Why?”

His
hands leave my shoulders.  One drops to his side, the other scratches his
eyebrow.  His face contorts, like he’s struggling with what to say.  “I don’t
know.”  His jaw stays tight and his lips barely move.

I’m
not the smartest person, but I’m nothing if not instinctual.  And Dylan is
lying.

I
clear my throat.  “What are you not telling me?”

“Cori,
please.”  Only inches separate us but he’s still not touching me.  His hands
just hover somewhere near my head.

“No. 
Tell me why I’m important to them.  You seem to know something I don’t. 
Please.”

“Now
is not the time for this conversation.  I’ll tell you anything you want once
we’re safe.  For now, can you please just trust me?”

Trust
is a funny thing, and it tends to come and go lately.  I have plenty of reasons
to trust him.  He saved my life, for example, and he was always a loyal
friend.  I truly believe he cares for me.  But all the while there’s a nagging
in the back of my head, reminding me that this is Nathan Burke’s son.  And
maybe that’s why he always seems to know so much.

I
can’t let myself think that way.  Dylan is all I have.

“I
trust you.”

After
an eternity and a half of silence between us, his hands eventually find their
way back to my shoulders, moving up and down as though warming me even though
I’m not cold.

We
crawl out of the closet, slowly, quietly.  We pause at the door to listen.  I
assume he’s making sure none of the guards lingered here when the rest left.

We
hear nothing, but he’s making me nervous, so I reach back and touch the gun to
make sure it’s secure.

Dylan
leads the way down the stairs, and I try my best to tread softly, which is
tricky in boots.  Once downstairs, we duck by the front windows.  Dylan slides
the fabric aside to look out. 

“It’s
probably safest for us to stay here.”  He lets the fabric fall and looks at
me.  “They aren’t likely to come back since they already cleared this spot.”

“Okay. 
Should we hide anyway?”

“Just
stay low, and quiet.  If we can find some backpacks and something to hold
water, we can get ready to move after the soldiers leave.”

I
take a breath and start for the staircase when the ring of a gunshot stops me
in my tracks.

Dylan
pulls me down beside him and looks out the window.  He reaches behind me and
taps the gun in my waistband.  I draw it before looking outside.

In
the middle of the road, one of Nathan’s soldiers is on his knees, gun in hand,
with a knife in his chest.  A young man with light skin and black hair stands
over him, retracting the blade.

Behind
the young man is a small army, or maybe
gang
would be a better word.  I
take in the sight of them with my mouth hanging open.  They wear dark clothing,
vests and shirts cut off at the shoulder.  Their hair is greasy and shaggy, and
they have dark markings on their skin.  Every single one has a blade in his
hand.  These men are
not
from the other colony. 

In
the direction they’re coming from, several homes in a row have doors busted in
that weren’t like that this morning.  Large piles of blankets and goods are
stacked in the street as a few more straggle out with their hands full.  When
they see the confrontation unfolding in front of us, they drop their loads and
pull their own knives.

The
other four Antius soldiers emerge from the house across the street, their guns
drawn.  One soldier splits off toward the body in the street and I recognize
him.  He’s the gruff boss from the woods.

The
pack scatters, anticipating attacks of the soldiers.  One of the soldiers
boldly steps out front with his gun trained on his attackers.  He tries to pull
the trigger, but his gun jams.  In the moment it takes him to register the
problem, he’s swarmed by the dark-clothed men and I can’t see what happens to
him next.

  The
remaining soldiers manage to take down three of the black-clothed men before a
knife flies through the air and into the soldier’s chest.

Another
guy attacks a soldier from behind and knocks his gun from his grip.  The
soldier throws a punch, but it’s futile, the guy stabs him in the back, and
then the chest.  When he pulls the blade away, the body slumps to the ground.

The
other two soldiers fire more rounds until their guns are out.

Four
of the dark-clothed guys approach the boss, who has taken his fallen comrade’s
weapon.  I thought he was seeing to his fallen soldier, but he was just taking
his gun.  Boss turns toward the approaching attackers and fires his own gun and
the one he took.  He hits a shoulder here, a thigh there, but more guys come
his direction.  Two different guys snatch the guns from his hands and
simultaneously shoot him in the head.

A
squeal escapes me and I cover my mouth with my hand, breathing hard.  Tears
blur my vision as I watch them drop the guns on the ground and walk away.

I
didn’t see what happened to the other soldiers, but I count all five bodies on
the ground.

With
my hand still pressed to my mouth, I listen to the thumping of footsteps on the
street.  I finally dare another peek, and there are even more men out there
than I thought.  I see the young men again, talking amongst themselves and a
few cleaning their blades on their pants.  But in the back of the procession I
finally see older men.  Compared to the physiques and muscles of the younger
ones, these men look weak.  But they barely look like men at all.  Their eyes
are sunken in and dark, their heads are bald, and there are muzzles strapped
across their faces.  Apart from the muzzles, I recognize them.

Savages. 

They
are far more terrifying in person than they were in my nightmares.  As I start
to tremble, Dylan scoops me up and runs up the stairs.  I think for a moment
that maybe he’s taking me to the room with the giant bed so I can fall
asleep--or wake up, I’m not sure which--and end this nightmare. 

When
he ducks into the boy’s bedroom, I realize I’m wrong--it’s back into the closet
we go.  I
hate
this closet. 

For
the longest time, my heartbeat and both our heavy breathing, and the blood
beating against my temples are the only things I can hear.  I will myself to
calm down, to focus, to listen, but it’s no use. 

Before
I have any clue that anyone has come up the stairs and into this room, Dylan is
jerked out of the closet.  A dull thud and something slumping to the floor in
the hall makes my stomach sink.

Two
hands wrap around me, snatch me from the closet, and toss me to the floor.  I
see something whipping through the air, and then I see nothing at all.

Two
lights shine on me.  With my eyes squinting to adjust, my mind races trying to
figure out where I am.  I remember being struck, but nothing after that. 
Wherever I am now, I don’t recall the journey.

Everything
inside the room is black or gray, mostly made of metal.  On the far wall is a
line of windows that are blacked out and nearly thirty feet up.  Not a viable
escape.

A
man clears his throat.  I look up, my head aching.  The black-haired young man
from the street attack sits backwards in a chair facing me.  My fingers drift
to my forehead and find something crusty on my skin.  I reach into my hairline
and wince when I touch the wound.  I roll onto my side before sitting up to
face him.

“Hello,
lovely.”  The young man winks at me.  He led the attack on those soldiers, so I
take him to be important, though he hardly looks old enough to lead anyone.