He chuckles, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Sure thing, darlin’.”
I huff. “Please just take me back. Trade me or use me as blackmail, I couldn’t care less. Just let me go home.”
His demeanor shifts. “I can’t do that. Not yet.”
I feel like whining. “Why not?”
“Because, darlin’, as annoying as you are, you deserve to make an informed decision about your own future, just like everyone else.” He stands, jerking his head for me to follow.
I throw the blanket off of me, only to realize I’m wearing baggy sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt that’s about three sizes too big as opposed to the cocktail gown I was in last night. “Where’s my dress?”
He looks back, waiting for me to catch up. “It had puke on it.”
I cross my arms, chilly now that I’m not surrounded by the warmth of the bed. “And how did I get out of the soiled gown?”
A grunt is his only response, and his utter disregard for basic human decency makes me want to smack him. “You are deplorable.”
“Keep up.” He leaves the tent, and I follow him out, slipping a pair of worn clogs over the fuzzy socks already on my feet. I haven’tworn clothes thiscomfortablein over a decade, but despite the mountain of fabric I’m buried under, I couldn’t feel more naked.
Scrambling after him, I realize I’m completely powerless here. I know no one, own nothing, and have no means of escaping. I would probably descend into hysteria if I wasn’t working so hard to keep up with Maverick’s long strides. I hold the loose pants to keep them from falling down my waist, taking two steps every time he takes one.
“Where are we going?”
“Doc wants to see you,” he says gruffly.
Although I want to askwhy, I’m sure he’ll just have some snarky response, so I keep my mouth shut, taking in my surroundings instead.
We’re in a lush forest, a soft drizzle coating the trees and plants in a fine mist. There are tents like the one I was sleeping in set up every few meters, with people of all kinds milling about. Men and women mingle, talking and laughing like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Everyone is dressed similarly in unisex clothing, and there doesn’t appear to be any kind of societal hierarchy whatsoever. Everyone does seem to notice Maverick, though; they jerk their heads in greeting or smile at him, some of them even calling out to say hello. He responds in kind, and I conclude he must be someone important here if he’s this well-known.
I, on the other hand, am met with looks of curiosity and even some contempt. I can’t say I blame them, though, since I’m looking at them the same way.
If last night’s boat ride was any indication, we’re probably on an island—an uninhabited island, given the absence of actual buildings and electricity. My conversation with Sister Thomas the other night comes flooding back. She did mention something about the Resistance taking up residence on the abandoned islands off the Sound.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when something cold and wet brushes against my hand. I look down and scream, staggering backwards. I trip on my own feet and land hard on my tailbone, scurrying away from the creature that touched me.
Maverick looks down at me, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Not a fan of dogs, then.” The animal sits at his side with its tongue lolling out. It tilts its head to the side, ears perked.
I stare up at him in disbelief. “That’s not a dog, that’s awolf.”
He shrugs. “All dogs are descended from wolves, Mrs. Sinclair.”
I glare at him, still keeping a wary eye on the massive animal at his side. “Why is it here?”
Maverick squats down and scratches the dog behind its large, pointed ears. “Itis ahe, and his name is Zeus.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“He’s mine,” Maverick says. “Surely you’ve heard of the concept of pets. You know, domesticated animals that people keep around for companionship?”
Apparently this man thinks I’m an idiot. I stand and brush myself off, making sure to keep my distance from the beast. “He looks far from domesticated.”
The Rebel leader gives me a tight smile, and I get the feeling I’ve offended him.“I assure you he’s friendly.”
When I don’t make any move toward the wolf-dog, Maverick just shakes his head and turns away. The animal trots off, disappearing into the dense brush a moment later.
Maverick pushes through the flap of a large white tent, where a woman in cargo pants and a white sweater is turned away from us, hunched over a microscope. She straightens upon our entry, turning around and greeting Maverick with an easy smile that makes the wrinkles around her eyes more pronounced. “Welcome back, Cap.”
He dips his chin and straightens his spine an almost-imperceptible amount. “Hey, Doc.”
