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“NOTHING’S CHANGED.” Amos was adamant as they finished stowing field rations into their rucksacks. “It doesn’t matter if Mateo reappears or not. I remember the entrance he showed me. I can find it again.”
Don held up his combat knife, admiring the razor-sharp edge he’d taken such great care to hone. The glowing lanterns in the mess hall created dancing reflections on the blade as he brandished his weapon this way and that, examining it from all angles.
“I’m not worried about your sense of direction, Amos.” He squinted down the length of the blade at him. “My concern is whether or not Mateo’s told anyone else about his hidden entrance. Garr splitting us into two teams makes sense, but the last thing we need is to run into some nasty surprises in the dark underbelly of Hoarderville.”
“Getting past the guards won’t be a picnic, either.” Jane finished packing and sealed her rucksack. Like her companions, she’d included one of the long-bladed knives with her supply of field rations. “I don’t know what’s more nerve-wracking—you sneaking through Mateo’s secret door, or Garr trusting a Hoarder to drive our team through Gate Seven as if we were legit Citizens.”
Amos shrugged, unconvinced. “The Hoarders managed to get us out with no problem. Darcy’s name seems to have clout with the guards. They could be some of his supporters, for all we know.”
“Darcy Peterson—everyone’s favorite psycho.” Don re-sheathed his knife, the wickedly sharp blade hidden within the scabbard. He stowed the weapon inside his rucksack, the handle protruding under the flap. “That must’ve been surreal, sitting in his living room, discussing strategy over drinks.”
“You’ll get your turn soon enough, Don.” All heads turned as Garr entered the room, Megan close behind.
“Keep your weapons packed until we’ve made contact inside the Enclave.” The Colonel issued his orders crisply, looking at each of them in turn. “Darcy’s people will provide us with new outfits, so we can blend in with the locals. This is terra incognita.”
“Hidden in plain sight, Hoarder-style.” Don grimaced, shaking his head in resignation. “I’ll wear the monkey suit if that’s what it takes. I just hope some naive little Hoarder doesn’t ask me for directions to wherever they go for fun.”
Who are you kidding? Amos’s inner voice sprang to life, invading his thoughts for the first time in days. Changing your clothes won’t be anywhere near enough. You could betray yourselves a thousand different ways. Probably the first time you open your mouth.
He took a deep cleansing breath, refusing to follow that line of thinking. Rehearsing doomsday scenarios is a waste of time. Focus on solving problems, not imagining them.
Megan spoke up, pulling his attention back to the mess hall. “You’ll be fine, Don. They’ll be too busy staring at me.”
She pulled her hair into a ponytail, mimicking Sheila’s no-nonsense approach. Her eye patch, with its surrounding scar tissue, would be impossible to miss.
Don glanced at her, fidgeting with his pack. He was, perhaps, recalling his former animosity toward the ‘mindless killing machine,’ and wondering if Megan was aware of it.
“Is there anything you can tell us about the Enclave?” he asked at last, his voice subdued. “You got your speech back. Did any new memories come with it?”
Megan eyed him coolly. “No. A few vague impressions of the Enclave, but nothing specific.”
“Those Hoarders knew you,” Jane interrupted, her pointed words sounding like an accusation. “The blond kid called you by name. You must have some memory of them.”
“We covered this during the debrief, Jane.” There was no recrimination in Megan’s voice, but Jane bristled at her answer nonetheless.
Megan continued as if she hadn’t noticed. “Garr said the boy’s name is Connor. I accept this to be true, but it has no meaning beyond that.”
“Doesn’t it prove you used to be a Citizen?” Jane persisted, still suspicious. “You saved Darcy’s life once already. How do we know you won’t do it again?”
Megan gave her a curious look, cocking her head to one side in an eerie parody of Mateo. “When did Darcy become our target? The Givers are the enemy. That’s the whole point of this alliance.”
Alliance. You sound like Mateo. Amos didn’t find her answer at all reassuring. I’m still trying to get used to you speaking.
Megan turned to the rest of the group. “This much I can tell you. I became a Tracker against my will, and I have no memory of anything before that. For five years, I served as a bodyguard for the Givers, after which I was sent on my first Quest.”
She smiled ruefully, tracing the edge of her eye patch with her fingertips, the gesture more human than Tracker. “You already know how that ended.”
There was an awkward pause after her candid remarks. Garr cleared his throat. “Why did the Givers change your assignment? They must have had a good reason to take a seasoned bodyguard and give her new orders.”
Megan laughed bitterly. “They never gave reasons. Only orders. Reasons were irrelevant. Trackers are obsessed by one thing: the Givers’ approval. Once we’re sent on a Quest, all that matters is the Harvest.”
Amos took an involuntary step backward, remembering the murdered Runners they’d seen, gutted for their Implants. The Givers had devised a brutal and efficient counter-attack to Darcy’s strategy.
“I guess knowing they’ll blow you up for failure is a good incentive, too,” Don said dryly.
Megan didn’t answer at once. “Fear is all we have. That, and the Quest.”
She stared off into the distance, not meeting anyone’s gaze. The Runners observed an awkward silence, sensing her inner turmoil.
Megan focused on Garr, a haunted look in her eyes. “I have something else to tell you. Trackers don’t compete against each other. It makes no difference how many are sent on the same Quest. Only the Harvest matters.”
She swallowed hard, looking away before continuing. “Yet I . . . eliminated another Tracker that night. I was determined to be the one who completed the Quest, and the other unit was in my way. Trackers don’t act like that, not under normal operating conditions.”
“You mean you were malfunctioning?” Jane’s question was sharp, her barbed skepticism unmistakable. “After five years as a bodyguard, your tech was starting to break down? And the Givers didn’t notice?”
Megan glanced at her, but there was no animosity in her reply. “I don’t know. I’m just pointing out I wasn’t functioning like a typical Tracker.”
“How does that help us?” Don’s question was directed to Garr. “I’m not being flippant. I’m curious.”
Garr rubbed his jaw, studying Megan through narrowed eyes. “At minimum, it could mean the Givers don’t control every Tracker in exactly the same way. I can’t think of a way we could turn that to our advantage, but every bit of intel helps. Even if we can’t see it right away.”
Sheila and Aubrey entered the mess hall, each with their rucksack packed and ready to go
“We’ve said our goodbyes to Doc Simon,” Sheila said, all business. “When do we head out?”
“Now,” Garr replied with gusto, clapping his palms together. “Darcy said he’d have a vehicle waiting, and the rendezvous is tomorrow morning. I want to arrive before the Hoarders. No sense giving away our plans too early.”
“Now you’re talking.” Don grinned, getting to his feet and hefting his rucksack in one meaty fist. “They don’t need to know we have Mateo’s truck. Let them think we’re on foot. As far as they’re concerned, we’re mindless savages. It might be to our advantage if they underestimate us.”
“I’m not sure the Hoarders would even notice how we got there,” Sheila replied with a wry smile. “Amos and Garr, I hope you remembered those Hoarder outfits Darcy gave you. We’ll need the camouflage soon enough.”
Amos patted his rucksack. “Right here.”
Garr paused at the door, turning to face the group. The air was charged with tension and adrenaline as they prepared for another foray into the heart of Hoarder territory. Amos felt it. He was certain everyone else did, too.
“Amos, you’ll take Aubrey and Megan with you.” Garr fell into the familiar role of leadership. “Once you’ve dropped us off at the rendezvous, I want you long gone before Tony arrives. The rest of you are with me.”
He gestured to the battered table behind them. “If we succeed, there won’t be any need for this Hub. If we fail, none of us will be coming back anyway. I made a promise to Doc—that I’d bring you all back safe and sound.”
His gaze wandered around the circle. “But let’s be realistic. I’ve got no control over that. All I can promise is I’ve got your back. You need to have each other’s back. No exceptions.”
There were nods around the room. Amos took a deep breath. He had no real reaction to the idea they might never sit in this mess hall again. It was too far-off, too imaginary at this point. All he could see in his mind’s eye was the towering wall of the Enclave, and Darcy’s arrogant smirk.
“There’s more than one way to skin a Hoarder.” Don broke the tension with his favorite one-liner, clapping Garr on the shoulder. He made a grand gesture toward the open door. “After you, Colonel.”
Garr hitched his fingers into his shoulder straps, and led the way through the unassuming portal. The others followed one by one.
Amos and Sheila, out of force of habit, went to opposite sides of the room, extinguishing the lanterns. The mess hall was plunged into a gloomy twilight.
I hope there’s nothing symbolic about dousing the lights. Amos felt an odd twinge and couldn’t put his finger on which emotion he was feeling. Nervous jitters, that’s all.
Sheila was waiting for him by the door, and they jogged to catch up to the others.