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“WHAT A WASTE.” AUBREY wrinkled her nose as she scraped the inside of the blackened cooking pot. “I was looking forward to something besides trail rations for a change.”
“I guess we’ll never know if Don was going to poison us or not.” Garr grimaced as he helped Don wrestle the cooking unit away from the wall for a thorough cleaning. Don stooped behind it and yanked out the power cord. Aubrey noticed that he didn’t respond to the Colonel’s attempt at lightening the mood.
The door opened behind them, and Sheila strode in. She made a show of holding her nose as she frowned at the reminder of the meal that might have been. “Good thing we’re in the sub-basement. The locals will assume the Mission’s cooking crew made the smell.”
“Lucky for us,” Garr replied, scrubbing the surface of the cooking unit. “We’ve already had too many close calls. Let’s not tempt fate by getting careless.”
“How’s Megan?” Aubrey asked, pausing in her scraping. “Has there been any change?”
Sheila shook her head, dropping the pretense of plugging her nose. “Still out cold. Whatever Mateo’s blood did to her system, it knocked her out. Doc’s keeping an eye on her, but it looks like we’re just going to have to wait.”
Sheila tried, and failed, to repress a smile. “And, for the record, Doc’s also banned Mateo from the infirmary until further notice.”
Aubrey finished cleaning the charred pot, grinning in spite of herself. I can probably guess the expression on Doc’s face when she did it. And the look on his face, too.
The door opened again, this time to usher Amos and Jane into the mess hall. They stopped just inside the door, taken aback by the unmistakable odor. Amos recovered first, crossing the room to speak with Garr, Jane close on his heels.
All eyes in the room were riveted on the two newcomers.
Something’s up. Aubrey’s grin faded abruptly. Her chest constricted, matching the sinking feeling in her stomach. What else can go wrong today?
“The drop-box?” Garr straightened from his task. “What did you find?”
Amos shook his head. “We didn’t make it that far.”
“Not even close,” Jane added.
“Trackers?” Don spoke for the first time since leaving the infirmary. He wiped his hands on a towel. “Or Hoarders?”
“Both,” Amos and Jane said in unison. They glanced at each other, uncertain, before Amos gestured for Jane to continue.
The Runners gathered around the partially cleaned cooking unit, listening with trepidation. Jane gave a terse description of the Hoarder abductions they’d witnessed just a few blocks from the Mission. Amos chimed in about the Tracker they’d stumbled across during their return trip.
“He passed within a meter of us.” Jane tugged absent-mindedly at her cap. “Between Trackers and Hoarders, it’s getting crowded around here.”
Amos shrugged. “We’ve seen Trackers prowling near the Mission before. Hoarder abductions are the bigger worry. Any time an adversary changes tactics . . .”
Aubrey’s heart sank. Her hands were trembling.
Classic symptoms of anxiety. She recalled one of Doc’s many explanations. I’ve got to hold it together. I won’t be the weak link.
“You may not have made it to the drop-box, but this intel is just as valuable.” Garr ran a weary hand through his hair. “My guess is the Hoarders are deploying more Trackers because they suspect we’re located nearby. Their ambush failed last week, and cost them a number of Trackers in the process.”
“Maybe the Tracker was scanning for new Implants.” Sheila stuffed her fists into her pockets. “The Hoarders you saw were kidnapping people to Implant. Don’t they usually return people to the same area, post-Implant?”
“To avoid arousing suspicion, yes.” Aubrey was glad for a topic she could speak to with authority. “Take me, for example. I’ve got no memory of being abducted or Implanted. I had no idea what the Hoarders had done until . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she visualized her final evening with Thomas and Sarah, seated around their kitchen table, just before one of the Soul-less broke the door down.
They sacrificed themselves to save me.
“It may not make much difference, either way.” Sheila fixed her gaze on Garr, driving home her point. “Whether the Trackers are searching for us, or scanning for newly Implanted Runners, staying in this Hub is too risky.”
“One more night.” Garr’s terse announcement fell into a pensive silence.
He gestured for Don’s assistance to slide the cooking unit into its proper place. The big man connected the power cable, and together they shoved the unit back against the wall.
Garr pivoted to lean against it. “Pack what you need, everyone, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we head back to the Enclave.”
Don laughed without much humor. “Right. Straight back to Hoarderville. So much safer, compared to our Hub.”
The walls of the room seemed to close in as he spoke.
We’ve been living in denial. Aubrey bit her lower lip. The feast was just a distraction. We know what’s next—Darcy, the Enclave, and the Givers.
“Trail rations for the road.” Don heaved a heavy sigh. “And trail rations before bed tonight. Everybody remember to thank our good friend Mateo for that.”
“Where is Mateo?” Amos glanced around the mess hall. “Is he with Doc?”
The question startled Sheila. “No, Doc told him to stay clear of the infirmary.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. A quick search through the Hub confirmed their suspicions.
Mateo had disappeared.