Текст книги "State of Chaos"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

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Chapter Nine

“Cassidy!”

Twelve-year-old Isabel crosses the space between us and throws her arms around my neck. I hug her back, shocked.

“How…?” I ask.

She stands back and I smooth her hair away from her face. It’s longer than it used to be, but still untamable. Her blue eyes are wide with delight. She’s wearing loose cargo pants and boots, her jacket buttoned up to her neck.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she squeals. “I missed you so much!”

I look to Chris for some sort of an explanation. He laughs out loud just as somebody else walks out of the tent.

Chris’s mother is wearing old jeans and a plaid button up – just like she was the last time I saw her. Her gray hair is swept into a loose bun. When she sees me, she starts smiling. “Cassidy Hart,” she exclaims, pulling me into a warm embrace. “Thank God you’re okay.”

“How are you here?” I ask, returning the hug. “Seriously. I’m confused here.”

“Well, you’re about to get a whole lot more confused,” a voice says behind me.

Chris’s younger brother, Jeff, ambles out of the tent, yanking me into a bear hug. He musses my hair. “What happened to you? You look like a rocker chick with that haircut.”

I make a face.

“You’re one to talk.”

His hair is starting to get shaggy around the edges, making me wonder if he’s trying to copy Chris and grow his hair out long. Whatever. I hug him again. And then Mr. Young steps outside. His appearance is unchanged, but his eyes are sad.

“Cassidy,” he says. “Good to see you back.”

I turn in a circle and look everybody over.

“This is real, right?” I ask. “Chris? Explain please.”

“Why don’t you come inside and rest?” Mrs. Young suggests. “We’ll explain everything.”

Chris slips his arms around my shoulders and leads me inside the tent. I take a seat on a foam mattress, crossing my legs. Isabel snuggles up against my shoulder, wrapping her hands around my arm. “You look weird with short hair,” she says.

“Gee, thanks,” I reply, too tired to get my feelings hurt.

Jeff settles down beside us while Mr. Young sits on a camping chair. Mrs. Young starts rummaging through a cardboard box full of supplies. “You must be starving,” she says. “I’ll get something for you to eat.”

“Don’t forget your hungry son, either,” Chris comments.

“I won’t.” She smiles fondly at him. “I was worried about you today.”

“I’m back in one piece. Don’t worry, mom.”

She presses her lips together.

“How are you guys here?” I ask. “Chris and I saw your house burned down. There was nothing left. I thought Omega took you!”

“Do you remember when you left to go find your father up at your family cabin a few months ago?” Mrs. Young says, pulling out some canned goods. “Chris left the next day to find you. He was so worried.”

“I remember,” I reply.

“You were gone for a couple of weeks,” she continues. “I knew you’d be coming back – Chris wouldn’t leave you out there alone. But Omega came.”

“I was out hunting,” Jeff explains. “I saw them coming, man. They were burning houses on their way up the hill. I came home and told the folks, and we took off.”

“Omega burned the farm and killed the animals,” Chris adds.

“Where did you go?” I ask Jeff.

“Here. Well, not here specifically, but to this group.” He leans forward. “The Free Army is basically what’s left of Squaw Valley. Anybody who hasn’t been enslaved, subjugated or killed is right here in this camp.”

“They took us in,” Mrs. Young adds. “We’ve been here ever since.”

“I found them after you were taken, Cassie,” Chris says. “I ran into some of the militia and they took me back to camp. After I found my folks, I started working on finding you.”

“Mission accomplished,” I smile.

“Right.” He kisses my fingers. “My family was here the whole time.”

“Duh,” Isabel mutters. “I can’t believe you didn’t find us sooner.”

“Finding the militia is no simple matter,” Mr. Young says. “They’re well hidden and you can only find them if they want to be found.”

“Well, they’re much better organized now that Chris is in charge,” Mrs. Young sighs, pride lighting her features. “He really changed things around here.”

“So what does that make you?” I ask Chris. “Captain? Commander? Boss?”

“I’m not officially in charge of anything,” Chris replies, stretching his long legs across the floor. “It just happened.”

“People naturally follow Chris,” Mrs. Young says.

I nod. Max said almost that exact thing during the ride up here.

“Who was in charge before you got here?”

“Alexander,” Jeff answers, frowning. “But that’s another long story. Let’s eat, mom.”

Mrs. Young gets out a portable camping stove.

“Where did you get all this gear?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s ours,” Jeff says. “We loaded up that Hummer you two stole from Omega in December and filled it with all of our camping supplies before we left the farm. It was a smart move.”

“No kidding.” I pause. “What do you do about fuel?”

“We steal it.” Isabel sits up, grinning. “That’s kind of what we do here.”

“Steal gas?”

“No. We raid Omega supplies,” Jeff corrects. “We take back food, water, ammunition, weapons and fuel. It hurts them and helps us.”

“Destroying that labor camp today will screw up much of their supply line of food in the Central Valley for a while,” Chris says. “Plus, other militias will hear about it. It’s good for people know that somebody’s fighting back.”

“So when you showed up here… I guess the whole idea of taking down the labor camp wasn’t foreign to these people,” I say.

“Right.” Chris shifts his position, examining his dirt-stained hands.

“Dinner will only take a few minutes,” Mrs. Young assures us.

I lean against Chris’s shoulder, closing my eyes. For the first time in weeks, I’m not marching to the beat of Omega’s drum. There’s no roll call, no ten-minute dinner limit, no executions and no Kamaneva.

“You think Kamaneva is still alive?” I ask.

“It’s a possibility,” Chris says. “But it doesn’t matter. The labor camp is totaled.”

“That’s so unfair,” Jeff sighs.

“Don’t start that again,” Mrs. Young sighs.

“Don’t start what?” I ask.

“Jeff wants to fight, too,” Mrs. Young says. “But he’s not ready for combat yet.”

“Oh, yeah. I get to stay in camp and guard all the old ladies.” Jeff rolls his eyes. “Real thrilling.”

I giggle.

“Hey,” Jeff says, perking up. “You still have that knife I gave you?”

My heart sinks.

“No. I haven’t seen my backpack since…” I trail off, watching as Chris pulls a knife out of a sheath strapped to his leg. “Is that mine?”

“Saved it for you,” Chris says.

I take the weapon and turn it over. Yup. My name is engraved on the handle.

“You’re the best,” I reply, kissing his cheek.

“I can’t argue with that,” Chris shrugs, winking.

I look at the knife for a little while, remembering when Jeff gave it to me last Christmas. We were all together, then. But one thing was still the same:

My father wasn’t there.

“Cassie?” Chris touches my face. “What is it?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing. Just…” I exhale. “I guess nobody’s heard any news about my dad?”

Mrs. Young hesitates before answering, dumping a can of beans into a cooking pot. She sets the pot on the stove and gets to work on the rest of the meal. “No,” she says. “I’m so sorry, honey. I really am. But your father’s situation is a lot different than ours. Omega actually arrested him.”

“Do we know that for sure?” I argue. “I mean, yeah, there was a huge sign tacked on the cabin door from the freaking Sheriff of Nottingham, but my name was on there, and so was Chris’s. And neither of us was arrested. What if my dad wasn’t either?”

A heavy silence fills the camp.

“If that’s the case,” Chris says at last, “then your dad would find a way to get to you. He’s that kind of man.”

“What if he’s dead?” I mutter, chilled.

“He’s not dead.” Chris shares a concerned glance with his mother. “Let’s not talk about this now. You need to eat and get cleaned up. All of us do. It’s been a long day.”

Tell me about it. One of the longest days of my life.

And I thought standing in line at the DMV was a bad deal.

We eat a hot, heavy meal of canned meat, vegetables and bread. I devour everything like a puppy, starving for big portions of food. I haven’t seen Sophia since I arrived, but I’m betting she’s doing the same thing as I am right now:

Stuffing her face.

When I’m done eating, I follow Mrs. Young into the back of the tent. She lifts up a little flap and we walk outside. There’s a big metal bin sitting on the edge of the campsite, surrounded by several curtains made out of tarpaulin. It’s a makeshift washroom. “Jeff will get you some water, and you can start scrubbing away all of that dirt,” she says.

I swipe my hand over my arm rub the crud between my thumb and index finger. Yeah. That’s gross on a number of levels. Thanks for that, Kamaneva.

Her name brings a bitter taste to my mouth – and a little bit of guilt. She was seconds away from shooting me point blank in the head when Max took her down. I have every right and reason to hate her… but I don’t. Not really. How perverted is it that I actually feel sorry for her?

I just can’t imagine living life being so hateful.

Not to mention trigger-happy.

“Okay, here you go.” Jeff comes around the corner about a half an hour later. I help him fill up the tub with cool water. I’d prefer taking a bubble bath, but hey. This is better than nothing. He leaves me alone and I get an hour of something I haven’t had in a long time: Privacy.

I peel off my prison-issued clothes and step into the water. It’s cold, but it feels good. I scrub every inch of dirt and filth off my body. Mrs. Young brings me some clean clothes and she takes the old ones away.

She’s probably going to burn them. Personally, I’d opt to use them as bear repellant. There are some not-so-pleasant scents wrapped up in those things.

When I’m done, I put on some snug cargo pants, a long sleeve shirt, a jacket and a pair of combat boots. I slip on some socks and lace up the boots, delighted to be reunited with some footwear that loves me as much as I love them.

“Alright,” I say, combing my fingers through my wet hair.

It’s so short. Just another reminder of Omega’s presence in my life.

When I step back into the tent, it’s already getting dark. Chris looks up at me. He’s cleaned up. His black tee shirt is tight against his lean, muscular frame. His hair is hanging loose and damp around his face. I don’t even realize I’m staring at him until he starts laughing.

“See something you like?” he teases.

“Um…” I blush. “I was just… you know… looking.”

“I know.” He stands up and places one hand on each side of my face. “You look beautiful when you’re cleaned up.”

I roll my eyes.

“As opposed to what? Looking like I was just liberated from enslavement?”

“Nah, you always look pretty.” Chris presses a slow, gentle kiss against my lips. Enough to make my toes curl. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this. It was my job to protect you, and I failed.”

“You didn’t fail at anything—”

“—Let me finish, Cassie.” He pulls back and starts pacing, a sign that he’s either tense or nervous. Maybe both. “I don’t know if you’ve been impressed with the fact that I went crazy trying to find you. I looked everywhere.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “You scared the crap out of me.”

I swallow.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I didn’t do it on

purpose.”

“I know. When I found out where you were through the underground in the Free Army, I knew I had to come get you.” He glances across the campsite where Max is gathered with a few of the men. “Max was instrumental. He did a lot behind the scenes to keep you alive. But when Kamaneva put you in solitary, Max knew you were going to be executed the next morning. We had to change our plans. We had to attack the camp a lot earlier than we were thinking.”

“You were amazing,” I shrug. “You completely surprised Omega.”

“We got lucky.” He stops again. “You came way too close to getting killed. I owe everything to Max for saving you from that bullet.”

“Max is a good man,” I agree. “I can’t believe I thought he was a sleazy creep who liked hitting on teenage girls.”

Chris starts laughing again.

“Max is an extremely talented actor,” he says. “Probably the most talented guy in camp.”

I look around, spotting Isabel’s head of blonde hair near Mrs. Young.

“Isabel’s happy here,” I say.

“My parents have all but adopted her.”

“Good. Isabel needs parents.” I look at Chris. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Jeff said there was somebody named Alexander in charge before you came to camp. Who was he? Did the militia mutiny on him or something?”

Chris grins.

“No. Nobody was really in charge,” he replies, playing with my fingers. “People were just following Alexander’s commands because he’s a military guy and that was a lot better than sitting in the mud, wondering how to strike out at Omega.”

“But then you came to camp and everybody fell in love with you,” I joke, but I’m actually halfway serious. Chris has that effect. He’s logical, smart, common sense. Roll all of these attributes into one and you’ve got yourself a popular leader.

“No, I just have a different approach than Ramos,” Chris says.

“Ramos?”

“Ramos. Alexander Ramos.”

I blink.

“So is he still in camp, then?”

“Yeah. He’s a good soldier, he’s just got an attitude.”

I smirk.

“Like me?”

“No. Like an egotistical jerk.” Chris gives me a look. “Stay away from him if you can avoid it. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not a good guy, either. He can be…rough around the edges.”

I slide down to the ground and curl up on one of the camping mattresses.

“I guess that’s your way of saying he’s not a gentleman.”

“Exactly.” Chris ambles over and sits beside me, stroking my hair as I lay with my cheek pressed against a sleeping bag. “This is a good group of fighting men, and their purpose is to create enough chaos to keep Omega from taking such a deep hold here.” He traces my ear with his fingertip, moving down to my neck. “But it’s just like any other society. You have to watch your back. There will always be people who aren’t as nice as you think they are. Ask anybody who’s experienced any type of military environment and they’ll tell you to keep your eyes open.”

His fingers touch the gold chain hanging around my neck.

“You kept this?” he exclaims, surprised. “They didn’t confiscate it?”

I smile up at him.

“I guess that’s just God’s way of winking at me.” I touch his hand. “You know, when I was in that place, and they were killing people on the sidewalk, and Kamaneva was making us march through the locker rooms naked, I kept thinking about something.”

Chris’s jaw hardens.

“I swear, if I could kill everybody that ever—”

“—Don’t you want to know what I was thinking about?” I interrupt, feigning disappointment.

Chris visibly relaxes.

“Alright. Shoot.”

“I was thinking about you.” I press my lips against the center of his forehead. “I kept asking myself what you would do in my situation. And I knew you’d come for me – and you did.” I slide my arms around his neck. “Thank you, Chris.”

I’m so close to him that I can hear the rapid beat of his heart. He gently lays me back onto the sleeping bag and gives me a kiss. “You make it easy,” he whispers.

I fold myself against his chest, feeling completely secure in his embrace. Nothing and nobody can come between us now. Exhaustion, starvation, trauma – whatever it is that’s eating at my nerves – melts away. I close my eyes and, for the first time in a very long time, I sleep peacefully.

Yeah. Thanks Chris.

What would I do without you?

Now that I’m done hibernating, I feel like a new person. It’s amazing what a little food and water can do. To say nothing of clean clothes, an environment that’s not totally bloodthirsty, and fresh mountain air.

Oh, and then there’s Chris.

Did I mention him? I guess I did. I think I love that man.

I’ve been sleeping on and off for about three days. The exhaustion of slave labor finally caught up with me, and after a little bit of time living in a dark hole, sleeping and dreaming about goose feather pillows, my energy is back. Cassidy Hart has returned, people. And this time around, there’s no grouchy, mouthy Russian woman to push her around.

Chalk one point up to my team, please.

Today is the first day I’ve felt like exploring the campsite, and as I do, I learn a lot about the Free Army. There are elderly couples, singles, children and families here. Everybody contributes to the maintenance and survival of the community as a whole. Women and men share an equal work burden. The women keep the supplies organized and make sure the food is used in a way that will feed the most mouths. Men constantly scout the area, and there are guards posted around the campsite at all times.

And all the while, Chris is taking the liberated prisoners from the labor camp and turning them into new recruits. Sophia and I are sitting on a fallen log, watching him walk back and forth, talking to them. Both men and women are wearing clean clothes. Like me, they’re so happy to be freed from enslavement that the idea of joining an army seems like a great opportunity.

And, also like me, they might change their mind later.

“You know what I think?” Sophia says.

“Hmm?”

“I think Chris Young is way too old for you.”

I roll my eyes.

“Age is but a number.”

“Yeah, but he’s a lot different than you are. I mean, he’s all logical and mature and you’re…”

“I’m what? Illogical and scatterbrained?”

Sophia chokes on a laugh.

“No. I just mean you guys are kind of

different.”

“True. But we’re the same, too.” I pick at a loose thread on my pants. “Look what he did to save me. He took command of an army. How many guys would do that?”

Sophia shrugs.

“Good point. He must really love you.”

I lick my lips.

I’ve never heard Chris say those three little words to me before, but…that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me. I think it’s obvious by the way he protects me that there’s more to this than a simple crush.

“Shall we join the army today then?” I ask Sophia.

She shakes her head. Sophia’s dark skin is a stark contrast to the green tee shirt she’s wearing. She’s got the kind of exotic beauty I always dreamed about. But really, who cares about stuff like that anymore? Being pretty isn’t going to keep my butt out of Omega’s crosshairs.

“Tomorrow. Let’s just watch,” she replies.

“Okay.”

Chris is launching into a lecture (I’m starting to wonder if he’s got a laundry list of inspirational speeches memorized) about the kind of commitment it’s going to take for the new recruits to join the Free Army.

“It won’t be easy,” he says. “In fact, it’s going to be the most challenging thing you’ve ever done. You’re going to want to quit. You’re going to want to surrender. You’re going to want all of this to disappear.” He pauses, stretching the moment. The crowd is hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth. “But in the end it’s going to be worth it, because Omega can’t be everywhere at once. Our job is to create enough chaos to make them want to leave our homes alone. We’re not a big enough militia force to meet them on an open battlefield. We don’t have the manpower or the firepower for that. What we do have is strategy, and something to fight for. This is our home, and you have to decide if you’re willing to sacrifice everything to take it back from Omega.”

He stops and clasps his hands behind his back, instructor-style.

“Can you commit?”

There’s a dead silence. Isabel clambers across the log and squeezes me into a playful hug, her eyes on the conversation going down in front of us. At last, somebody in line steps forward. “I can commit,” he says. He’s a tall, lean young man with a rifle slung over his back.

“What’s your name?” Chris asks.

“Andrew,” he replies. “And I’m in.”

Chris nods. A few other guys step forward and, after several moments, the entire crowd of ex-POWs takes one step, signifying their decision. My chest swells with pride – pride for Chris’s leadership, pride for the people willing to give their lives to take down Omega.

It’s a rush.

“Thank you,” Chris says, rubbing his chin. “My men and I will start training you. It won’t be long before you’ll be able to inflict as much damage on Omega as they’ve inflicted on us. It won’t take much to turn all of you into their worst nightmare.”

After a few more minutes of talking, Chris lets another man start speaking. I don’t recognize him. He’s tall, blonde and blue eyed. He looks young. His plaid button up is tucked into his blue jeans as he speaks.

Chris looks over at me, ghosting a smile.

“He’s got it bad for you,” Sophia grins.

I feel myself blushing.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“You’d be crazy if it wasn’t.”

The blonde guy wraps up his talk, and then Chris is moving the group away from camp. I’m assuming they’re going somewhere to train. I stand up and stretch.

“We should train, too,” I say. “I want to help.”

“Me too!” Isabel starts walking back and forth on the log, balancing like a tightrope walker. “Chris says nobody’s too young or old to help win this war.”

Sophia winces at the word war. I don’t blame her. It’s a loaded word.

Small, but loaded.

“I’m going to grab lunch,” Sophia says. “Mrs. Young is making something. I can see her from here.”

“I’m coming with you,” Isabel replies, jumping off the log and taking Sophia’s hand. The two of them have become pretty close in the last few days. “Coming, Cassie?”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Something catches my attention at the other side of camp. Sophia and Isabel start walking towards the Young’s tent as I go the other way. A tall, powerful man with dark, cropped hair is standing with his arms crossed. He’s studying me. Judging by his appearance, I’m going to make an assumption: he’s ex-military. He has to be with his build, hairstyle and presence.

“Hey,” I say, approaching.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m Cassidy,” I continue. “Are you helping Chris train the recruits?”

He shifts his stance, giving me a cold once-over.

“Ramos,” he replies, his voice gravelly. A smoker’s voice. “Alexander Ramos.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” I stop myself. “I mean, yeah. I heard about you.”

“Really?” He smells like smoke.

I furrow my brow as he pops a package of cigarettes out of his pocket.

“Smoke?” he asks.

“No thanks.” I watch him take a cigarette out. Light it. “Where do you get those? I don’t think they’re selling them at the local gas station these days.”

Alexander snorts.

“A lot of people leave them behind in their houses,” he says.

I notice the lines around his mouth. “Well, I just wanted to… introduce myself,” I say lamely. “Have a nice day.”

I turn to leave, but he catches my shoulder.

His hands are huge – almost three times the size of mine.

“Cassidy,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

I take a step backwards under the intensity of his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful,” he warns.

“What are you talking about?”

He shrugs and takes a long drag, giving me a farewell wave. Then he stalks off like I never existed, leaving me alone on the edge of camp. How weird is that?

I shrug off his strange behavior as the “attitude problem” Chris was talking about and head back to the Young family tent. Mrs. Young has cooked up some lunch, and it smells delicious. I’m surprised Omega can’t track us down based on the scent of our campfire cooking alone.

“You know, Chris was telling me that you thought your father might have been taken to the city as a war criminal,” Mrs. Young says, setting a bowl down in front of me. “But after what I’ve seen of Omega, I don’t think they’d bother.”

She makes an attempt to smooth back her wispy gray hair as she sits down and joins Sophia, Isabel and myself at a table. “What makes you say that?” I ask.

“Because Omega doesn’t just single people out of the crowd,” Mrs. Young says, “unless they have a very good reason. As far as I know, your father just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“They made a point of leaving the warrant of arrest up for everybody to see,” I answer. “Why would they do that if they didn’t think he was important enough to single out?”

“Your father sounds like a smart man, from what you’ve told me,” Mrs. Young continues. “And I could be very wrong, Cassie, but I feel like Omega wouldn’t waste their time taking war criminals back to the cities.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Sophia asks.

“There’s nothing left of the cities,” Mrs. Young says, stirring her bowl of soup. “Rumor is Los Angeles was attacked with a chemical weapon not long after the EMP. I’ve heard from other people in camp that a lot of the major cities in the country were hit with a chemical weapon, too.”

Sophia stops eating. The color drains out of her cheeks.

“I thought New York was nuked.”

“There are those rumors, too.” Mrs. Young studies the branches of the trees before she goes on. “I don’t know a lot about military strategy like my son, but if I was an invading army, I would want to take over everything – not destroy it and rebuild it. If it’s already in place, why waste all that time building everything from scratch?”

“A chemical weapon would wipe out the population,” I say, realization dawning, “but it would leave the infrastructure of the city in place. Omega could literally clean out the dead people and then move in.”

Sophia covers her mouth.

“That’s disgusting!”

“It could be exactly what happened.” I fold my hands together, getting a plotting look on my face. “You might be right.”

Then what did happen to my dad?

Did Omega arrest him and send him to a labor camp? Was he killed on sight? I have no idea, and I’m afraid that if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll go crazy. So I focus on something else.

“Who do you think Omega is?” I ask.

“An alliance.” Mrs. Young doesn’t hesitate with her answer. “We know Russia is involved. Alexander is from the Midwest. He said he suspected Syria and North Korea were involved as well. There could be more.”

“Well, somebody decided to gang up on us,” I sigh. “How nice.”

After we finish lunch, I decide to go for a stroll around the campsite. My strength has returned and I want to familiarize myself with everything before I start training with the rest of the recruits.

Then again, thinking of myself as a “recruit” is kind of hilarious.

I was never the type of person who engaged in strenuous physical activity outside of jogging, hiking or riding a bicycle. And suddenly I’m going to join a guerilla militia group and fight against an invading army. God has a great sense of humor.

On the east edge of the camp, a few guards are stationed around the perimeter. Many of them are actually hidden in the forest a good distance away from the camp, just in case somebody tries to sneak up on us. It’s always good to be prepared.

As that thought crosses my mind, Harry pops up out of the bushes. He’s wearing combat pants that are two sizes too big, and he’s holding a stick.

A big walking stick, by the looks of it.

“Um…” I say. “What are you doing out here?”

He draws back, clutching said stick, and drops his eyes.

“Guarding,” he replies.

“What’s with the stick? Getting in touch with your inner caveman?”

He doesn’t crack a smile.

“I’m not allowed to have a gun,” he says.

Gee, I wonder why.

“Look, Harry,” I begin. “I know you didn’t set me up on purpose. Kamaneva was the devil in disguise. I was angry with you at first, but I’m not anymore. I understand why you did what you did.”

Forgiveness is not something I dole out on a regular basis. In fact, I have been known to hold a grudge against late postal carriers and waitresses who forget to put lemon in my water. But this is different. Harry didn’t betray me because he’s a bad person. He betrayed me because Kamaneva was.

“I should have been stronger,” he replies, exhaling. “I should have refused. That’s what your boyfriend would have done.”

“You were scared. It’s okay.”

“Well, there comes a point when you’ve just got to look after your own skin,” he snaps, glaring at me. Mood swing alert. “That’s what I was doing. Any logical person would have done the same thing.”

One second he’s apologizing and the next he’s making excuses for himself. I’d say Harry Lydell is having an emotional crisis right now. I would be, too, if I’d set somebody up to be executed.

“Forget it,” I sigh. “I just wanted you to know I’m not angry with you.”

“Bloody likely,” he mutters.

“Whatever. Be that way.”

I leave, upset. I’ve never had anybody reject mercy before. Is that even possible? If I did something bad, I’d want somebody’s forgiveness…wouldn’t I? Maybe it’s just a pride thing. Harry’s obviously embarrassed that he sold me out to Kamaneva.

He’ll get over it.

If I can, he can, too.