This might be my last, best chance to get back to Seattle. Heneedsto understand. Tears are welling up, but I fight them back. I can’t look weak.
“Going to Seattle is extremely important to me. All I want to do is find my family and my boyfriend. I have to know if they’re okay.” I fight back panic. In my outburst of emotion, I outed myself to this near stranger. I’ve been out and proud since I was fourteen, but without the safety net of civilization, you don’t know how people will react.
But he doesn’t freak out. In fact, his face softens, and he looks me in the eye. “Look, I need some time to think it over, okay? Let’s talk about this tomorrow?”
“Okay,” I utter under my breath.
Fear keeps me from telling him about the car. As certain as he was about saying no, he might try to force it out of me, and I’d be stuck here forever.
With nothing left to say, we scatter the campfire ashes and get ready for bed. It’s the same arrangement as last night—Aiden on my bed and me sitting in the chair. I’ll make my last appeal to him tomorrow. He needs to agree to take me before I mention the car; that’s my last bargaining chip if all else fails.
I’m not sure when I nod off, but the sun is streaming through the portholes when I wake up. The front door is closed, and the beam barring the door has been lifted. In a panic, I turn my gaze to the bed.
Aiden and all his belongings are gone.
Chapter Eight
The Real Peril
AIDEN
I wake up before the first light of dawn brightens the night sky. Moving as quietly as possible, I grab the backpack filled with the supplies Zach gave me and tiptoe toward the door. He’s sitting awkwardly in the chair, sound asleep. With a delicate touch, I lift the beam of wood barring the door and sneak out of the bank.
He took me by surprise last night, not only in asking to go with me to Seattle, but also in coming out to me, a leap of faith on his part. There have been awful stories about how racism and homophobia have run rampant since the Great Collapse. I feel a little guilty not coming out to him, but what would be the point? I’d be out of his life before he knew it.
Him traveling with me is out of the question. I work better on my own, and I know the risks. Maybe in a different life, I might have let Zach tag along. He’s a good guy. He’s industrious, funny, and creative. All excellent skills for a travel partner. But it isn’t going to happen. As certain as the sky is blue. People are literally trying to kill me, and I could never forgive myself if he ended up dead because of me, adding to the list of other unforgivable things I’ve done. I have a track record of people ending up dead around me.
I remember working at the local community center when I was fifteen. It was only a field trip to the local park with a group of fifth graders. Those kids were my responsibility. We were only going to be gone for, like, twenty minutes. Little Noah Lopez was only ten years old, with the cutest smile and big brown eyes. Bobby Wheeler, the troublemaker in the group, was whacking a tree with a stick. I went over to make him stop just as he struck a hornet’s nest. There were hornets everywhere. Everybody got stung, but Noah was allergic. He was supposed to have his EpiPen, but he forgot it. I should have checked before we left. That was on me. His throat closed up, and he couldn’t breathe. We called 911, but the ambulance took forever. I held on to him as his life drained away. By the time the medics arrived, little Noah was gone. I never forgave myself for that.
When Connor died on our mission, all those old memories bubbled to the surface again. Yeah, so people tend to die around me. It’s why I work alone. Why Iamalone.
Before leaving town, I make a quick sweep for anything useful to scavenge. The entirety of Elk Springs consists of five blocks. It takes almost no time to search every street. Half of the cars are burned out, have flat tires, or smashed windshields. And none of them have any keys. Like Zach said, people looted the cars long ago. One bag of spoiled potato chips in a glove box is all I find.
“Not a total waste, at least,” I say to nobody. And nobody laughs at my joke.
So, time to leave Elk Springs behind. These supplies will have to last me. I’m bound to find something in a week. What kind of courier would I be if I couldn’t do that? It’s what I’m trained to do.
I hike along the side of the road, staying close to the forest in case I need to take cover. White mileage post markers, nearly lost in the weeds, mark my slow progress. It gives me time to think. A lot has happened in the last few days. That car crash and flight through the woods almost feels like a dream. And I still haven’t figured out who was after me.
Sophia Hughes, the director of our bunker, is the only other person aware of my mission. Unless, somehow, somebody overheard our conversation or Sophia told somebody else I don’t know about. But that doesn’t seem likely.
Either way, it means there’s a spy in our midst. It’s hard to wrap my head around that. Everyone in our bunker is dedicated to our common goal. It’s the single driving force keeping us all going. The thought that somebody is working to subvert that goal means we’re in a whole new dangerous ballgame.
I think back to before my trip when Sophia called me into her office, asking about the brutal cross-country courier job I’d been assigned, checking that I was still up for leaving right away and that I understood the dangers.
What she revealed that day shook the foundations of my beliefs, and I still haven’t fully processed it. I’d be transporting vials that could lead to a cure for the Infection. The UW Medical Bunker in Seattle had discovered the ability to synthesize a powerful medication—effectively, a cure. But they needed something only we had—a sample of theoriginalInfection called XT58, a bioweapon engineered in a military lab. The military had stockpiled XT58 around the world. One such place was in Boston.
“What are you saying?” I asked Sophia, almost mechanically, still absorbing the implications.
“I’m saying what you think I’m saying,” Sophia said after telling me the news. “The Infection was man-made.”
I felt ill. Connor had tried to tell me about this on our last mission together, but I didn’t believe him. To me, it sounded like some wild conspiracy theory. When he died the very next day, I’d already put it out of my mind.
I flew into a rage, knowing everyone I loved, including Marcus, had died because the military decided to play god. When my anger faded enough to talk, I turned to Sophia. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because this knowledge is very dangerous,” she’d answered in a calm, level tone. “XT58 was initially designed to control people, even though most died who were exposed. In the wrong hands, anything is possible. They could fix the flaws of the original XT58 and build an army of subservient people. It could be altered to get around people’s immunity. Get around your immunity.”
She’d assured me the Collective had nothing to do with the creation of XT58, and she’d only learned of it recently through a contact in the military. That was important to me. I needed to know I was working for the right people. Connor had believed otherwise, but Sophia convinced me.
