Part Four: Of Allies
THIRTY
IT’S SNOWING AGAIN, FREEZING COLD, and there are too many clouds for the moon to effectively light the land. The world is obscured by darkness save for a single light source ahead, barely penetrating the downpour of flakes.
I move toward it, feeling my way along the alley walls. The light is coming from a massive vehicle sitting just before the gallows, illuminating the ground around it in a gleaming ring. It looks like a wingless plane, vaguely similar to the metal birds I saw AmWest fly over Taem when I ran from Frank. This model stands on planklike feet, its body bulbous and proud. There are two more behind it, only they don’t have their lights on. I squint, trying to take in more details, and notice the units do have wings. They are overhead, and numerous—more like a dragonfly than a bird. These must be helicopters. I read about them in some documentation about the Laicos Project. Something about this particular type of flying contraption makes it easiest for the Order to move over the Wall.
A figure moves, backlit by the helicopter’s light. Marco. Even with the poor visibility, there’s no mistaking that massive beard of his. A pair of Order members flank him. He raises something to his lips and then his voice is thundering through the evening.
“I have someone who wants to talk to you, Gray. Someone who wants you to know how important it is that you don’t waste any more of my time.”
I think I know what he means, and then I hear her voice, amplified.
“They’re dead, Gray,” Emma says. She sounds brave, her voice surprisingly steady. “Xavier and Bo. The Order didn’t even hesitate when they took the shots.”
I swallow, trying to push a knot out of my throat. There’s an amplified sob from Emma, and whatever courage she was channeling just seconds earlier is gone.
“Please,” she begs. “No. Please don’t do this.”
I realize she is no longer talking to me but to whoever is with her on the other side of the Wall.
Marco starts counting. “Five . . .”
Emma is sobbing now.
“Four . . .”
They won’t do it. They can’t.
“Three . . .”
I race forward.
“Two . . .”
“Wait!” I yell, spilling into the light of the helicopters. “I’m here.”
A gunshot sounds in the distance.
I go rigid.
“Gray,” Marco says. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
“I showed myself! I came and you—”
“We gave you plenty of time. She didn’t need to die, but you cut it too close. You killed her.”
I sink to my knees, oblivious to the cold sting of the snow. I should want to strangle him, attack him, beat him until he begs for mercy, but I’m empty. First my father. Then Bo and Xavier. And now . . .
I can’t think it. Can’t even bring myself to admit she’s gone.
One of the Order members checks me for weapons. “He’s unarmed.”
“Good,” Marco says. He grabs me by the collar and hoists me to my feet. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I’m led into a ruined building by Marco, who leaves two guards stationed outside.
“Why stop here?” he asks. “You were trying to cross into enemy territory, were you not?” Even though he stands right in front of me, I can barely see him through the thickness of night.
“Why would I tell you anything?” I manage to say. “You killed her. You have no more leverage to use against me.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate. If you want to ensure the safety of the rest of your team, you will cooperate.”
“They’re dead. Drowned with the Catherine. I’m the only one left.”
“We saw you lower a lifeboat—a full lifeboat.”
“It got overturned,” I say. “The three people you just killed were the only ones who didn’t freeze to death that very night.”
“You have a history of lying, Gray, and I don’t believe you.”
“That’s not my problem.”
It’s so dark, I don’t even see the blow coming. My face is suddenly burning, my mind blurry. It is the worst punch I’ve ever taken, but then I hear Marco reholster his handgun, and I know far worse than his fist struck me. I blink, move my head side to side, test my jaw. When I find it working, I toss a few foul words Marco’s way.
He grabs me by the collar and shoves me. A shelf along the wall hits my back and I cough in pain. I feel a deep, suppressed urge to push him off, but when I try to move, my limbs are too heavy. It’s like I’ve already given up.
“Why are you here?” Marco snarls again.
“Seeking shelter on my way into AmWest. That was our goal, just like you suspected: cross the border.”
“Then why turn off the cameras here?”
“I didn’t.”
“We know you did. It’s the only reason we even found you!” I think he shakes his head, almost in embarrassment. “Sitting on the borderlines, waiting like idiots. I should be thankful you made such a stupid move.” He shoves me harder against the wall. “Last chance, Gray. Give me the location of headquarters, and I’ll spare the rest of your team.”
“I already told you. They’re dead. That threat means nothing.”
“Have it your way. It makes no difference to me whether we get the location now or back in Taem.”
And this is fine. Marco can take me to Frank, throw me in his prisons, torture me for the location. I’ll die before I give it. At least Bree and the others can escape after I’m gone. I refuse to be responsible for the death of everyone under my lead.
Marco twists toward the doorway and shouts, “Get the choppers set to evacuate. And ready the weapons, too.”
The guards’ feet stomp off through the snow. Marco grabs my arm and tugs.
“I know your team is here somewhere, Gray, and I don’t have the time to search them out. I’ll let the bombs do that instead.” He leans toward me. “But since you claim they’re already dead, I guess you can just think of this as an unceremonious flattening of a deserted test group.”
And at this, the numbness in my core melts, because I cannot be the only one to make it out of this alive. I twist when Marco least expects it, deliver a blow to his gut. He trips over something hidden in the darkness. I throw another two punches, grapple for his gun. It’s so hard to see, though, and he’s stronger than I anticipate. His elbow catches me in the jaw, then a boot finds the inside of my leg, near the knee. I buckle, and then collapse as I’m kicked in the stomach. Again, and again. I’m trying to scramble to my feet, trying to crawl to safety, but each time his foot finds me in the dark. I shield my face in my arms, try to protect myself from the blows. I feel his hands on the back of my shirt, flipping me over. His gun is right before me, the barrel pressed against my forehead.
“I know the posters ask for you alive,” he sneers, “but believe me when I say I have no problem bringing back a corpse if you fail to cooperate. I can get the Rebels’ location from someone else. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Good, then you do that,” I say, positive he’s bluffing. “Go on. Shoot me.”
He flicks the safety off. Reaches for the trigger.
And then he does the unthinkable: He drops the gun. His eyes bulge. His hands fly to his neck.
I grab the fallen weapon and scramble backward, trying to make sense of things. Marco is sputtering, flailing, grabbing at something beneath his chin.
I step to the side and the figure comes into view: dark skin, dark clothes, almost invisible except for the whites of his eyes. Bleak. I don’t know when he snuck out of the tunnels, or how he managed to get into this room unseen, but he’s here now, a rope looped around Marco’s neck. He pulls back on it with all his strength, and when Marco starts to go limp, Bleak lets him slide to the ground.