“My mother trained me to fight since I was six, Cal. If you think you can take it from me—”
“I don’t.”
“You can’t talk me out of it, either.”
“I know.”
“So why are you here?”
I took a step back and then found a place near the edge of the hill among the roots of a nearby oak. Below, soldiers poured from their duty stations to the barracks and the mess. Lit from within by scores of flickering candles, the Lighthouse glowed. There was a pause and then a rustle of fabric as Nat crossed the hilltop.
“Where’s Bear?”
Nat was standing alongside a nearby tree with the backpack at her feet.
“Had to give him up.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
She sat down and pulled the backpack close to her. It was gray with black piping and a small logo, no different from one a thousand kids threw on their backs before jumping onto a school bus.
“Did they make it out?” she asked. “Alec and the others?”
I shook my head. “Alec is dead. Two of the soldiers too. I think the others made it.”
There was a sharp draw to her breath but Nat said nothing. Her fingers went white on the straps of the pack as she pulled at them and looked down at the camp.
“How did you get into the service?” I asked.
“They always want a few companions around to do their bidding. I played the pious game until I got an invite.”
Bells within the Lighthouse began to chime and the first wave of soldiers responded, flowing from the mess toward the open tent. Soon the novices would follow and then the companions.
“Do you know when you’ll do it?” I asked.
“As soon as he gets on the stage.”
“Too many people will be watching then,” I said. “After he speaks he’ll probably do the Receiving. Security will be expecting people to come up, and by the time the companions get there, they won’t be paying as much attention. That’s the best time.”
Nat stared at me a moment and then she nodded and hooked her fingers beneath the backpack’s straps. When she stood, she pressed one shoulder into the oak beside her to steady herself. I followed her into the copse of trees, where it was nearly dark and smelled richly of grass and honeysuckle. Nat set the pack at her feet. Her hands trembled as she unzipped it and lifted out the vest.
“Let me help you,” I said.
Nat hesitated a moment and then handed me the vest. She lifted her arms up over her head and I stepped forward, lowering it onto her shoulders. I tightened each strap until it fit her like a second skin. Next came the explosives. I lifted each brick and slipped it into its slot in the vest’s pockets. I did the sides and the front and then the back.
“The detonator,” Nat said. “It’s in the front pocket.”
I pulled out the battery pack and a tangle of wires that ended in the trigger. Nat turned around and I paused, staring at the connections. Maybe if I could find a way to disable it now, then I wouldn’t have to—
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m just adjusting the—”
“Let me.”
Nat turned around and took the battery and trigger from me. She stepped away and finished up herself, tucking the battery into a pocket at the small of her back and running the wires into their channels. When she was done, she pointed to her robe and I helped her with it. Once it was back on, the bomb was invisible beneath its snowy folds.
Nat looked up at me. She was shaking now, her veil in one hand, and the bomb’s trigger in the other. Down below us the Lighthouse bells chimed. There was no breath in my lungs. My blood had gone still.
“Do you believe in God, Cal?”
My throat tightened. I didn’t know the answer. Didn’t know what to say.
“I thought after Mom and Dad and Steve, I would stop,” Nat said. “But I didn’t.”
Nat’s tears came silently, sliding down her face and darkening the collar of her robe. I put my arms around her and pulled her toward me. She dropped her forehead onto my shoulder. Her breath was hot on my neck and ragged. I could feel her heart pounding through the plates in the vest.
“Maybe we can still go,” I said. “We know the way out. Maybe there’s still time to—”
“No,” she said. “There’s no more time.”
Nat raised her head and kissed me, her fingers curled into my back as she pulled me tight against her and I pressed her closer to me. When the bells rang again, Nat broke away. Her eyes closed tight as if she was making one last desperate wish. When she opened them again, they were dry and clear. Her hands no longer shook.
Nat lifted her veil and set it down to cover her face. Her robes fluttered behind her as she descended the hill and walked out into the camp.
23
I fell in behind a few citizens crossing from their barracks toward the Lighthouse. They were all talking excitedly, but I was thousands of miles away in my head.
“Have you heard, brother? They say he’s come to see us. They say it’s Nathan Hill.”
“Glory to the Path.”
“Glory.”
And then I was inside and the flaps were closing, trapping us in air that ran thick and hot. The first rows of pews were already full with soldiers, all of them with board-straight backs and heads held high. Only three other novices were considered devout enough to attend and I was moved with them into a precise row behind the citizens.
The temperature inside seemed to mount every second along with the waves of voices rising and falling. You could hear the intensity packed behind every word. The soldiers and most of the novices were practically vibrating, threatening to shake the very walls down to the dirt. It became harder and harder to breathe.
A blast of cool air washed through the space. Everyone turned as the tent flap lifted and a band of veiled white moved into the theater and took their places behind the men. Nat was standing on the aisle. There was no bend to her; her shoulders were thrown back, her head was up, staring resolutely at the stage. Her right hand, the one that held the trigger, was down by her side, closed in a fist.
Behind the companions, two armed guards stood on either side of the tent flap, their hands on the sleek black of their weapons. Weapons outside of the ops center, much less in the Lighthouse, were forbidden. They clearly weren’t taking any chances. I turned, sure to keep a look of religious awe on my face as I searched out the rest of the guards.
There were three along each wall and one at either side of the stage. I recognized some from Kestrel, but others were strangers to me. Hill’s private security forces, I guessed. I scanned their faces, all of them filled with the same unyielding focus, until one stopped me cold.
He was standing at the edge of the stage. Average height, sunburned skin, dark hair. Unremarkable. That was, until he turned and I saw the scar along his cheek. Then, I saw him not as he was but as he had been, standing in the midst of a desert, a mad gleam in his eyes as he raised a baseball bat to his ear and let it fall.
Rhames.
My skin went cold. Of course. Cormorant housed the top special forces the Path had, most of whom were focused singularly on the overthrow of California. Now that it had fallen, where else would they be but by the leader’s side?
Cormorant is here, I thought, and then, with a jolt, Is James?
I had no time to wonder. There was a rustle of uniforms as the soldiers snapped to attention. The theater fell silent. Every eye was on the stage.
There was no fanfare. No warning. He simply emerged from the darkness at the back of the stage and walked toward us, the glowing Path insignia over his head. No one clapped. No one breathed.