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GARR BROODED OVER THE most recent notes from the drop-box, spread out fan-shaped before him on the table. The fingers of his right hand flexed around his coffee mug—grip, relax, grip, relax. His left arm remained immobilized in a sling against his chest.
The third Runner, Amos guessed, eyeing Garr. We only found two. One dead, and the kid. But there were supposed to be three.
The young boy had been transferred out of their Hub as soon as Doc cleared him. He was safe—somewhere—and out of harm’s reach. That’s all they’d been told.
Amos applauded the decision. We can’t reveal what we don’t know.
“Come on, Garr, what is it?” Jane leaned across the table, hands nervously folded, her coffee cooling and forgotten.
She’s more brittle than ever. Amos kept a wary eye on her. The kid brought back too many memories.
Garr slid his coffee mug aside and shuffled the notes together, awkwardly one-handed. “I’m still trying to put the pieces together. Between Doc’s examination of the Tracker, what we’d already figured out, and now this . . .”
He shifted in his chair, flattening the dog-eared pages under his palm. “We’ve been flying blind so long, I’m afraid we’ve jumped to some dangerously inaccurate conclusions.”
“All this talk about ‘Givers’?” Sheila sat perched on the counter behind Jane. “You agree with Don’s theory, then?”
Garr exhaled, restlessly separating the pages again. “All right, hear me out before jumping in. Here’s the salient points Doc and I have discussed.”
He paused to collect his thoughts.
Something’s rattled him. Amos watched the Colonel through narrowed eyes. What could be more disturbing than what we already know?
“We just heard.” Garr poked the notes on the table. “The third Runner managed to sneak into the Hoarders’ Enclave.”
Amos’s jaw dropped at the Colonel’s audacious statement. Everybody was aware of the impenetrable defenses surrounding the Hoarders’ fiercely protected territory.
Garr held up a hand to quell their immediate chorus of protest. “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s been confirmed. Somehow, the third Runner eluded the Trackers, got past the guards, and inside the Enclave. And here’s where at least one piece of the puzzle may be falling into place.”
He paused a second time, looking at each of the Runners in turn. “A prominent Hoarder leader was killed last night—a military commander—executed in his own well-guarded living quarters.”
Garr waited, allowing the shocking news to sink in. “It must have been brutal. The Enclave’s media are apparently describing it as ‘the work of savages’.”
“What difference does that make to us?” Amos asked, frowning. “We’ve suspected Hoarder-on-Hoarder intrigue for a long time.”
Garr raised his eyebrows. “Suspected, yes. But now, it appears confirmed. It wasn't all that long ago when we were wondering whether the Hoarders were playing a sick game, pitting us against their Trackers for sport.”
Sheila stiffened, sliding off the counter and crossing to the table in two long strides. “We already knew the Implants were designed to make ordinary people homicidal. And if any of us got in their way, they’d kill us.”
She slapped a palm on the tabletop. “But we weren’t the targets, were we? It’s really Hoarder against Hoarder.”
Garr nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Doc and I suspect there’s a link between Trackers and Runners—they’ve each had their blood chemistry altered. The same technology is at the root for both Implants and Trackers.”
Amos saw Jane stiffen across the table. This hits her harder than the rest of us. Nobody blames her, but she’s the one who pulled the trigger.
To his surprise, it was Jane who made the connection first—he saw it in her eyes. She leaped to her feet, knocking her chair over as she leaned hard on the table.
“But until today, we had no proof Runners were being directed to specific targets.” She addressed Garr breathlessly, eyes searching his face for confirmation. “Implanted Runners aren’t just random killers—they’re assassins.”
Garr met her gaze, his expression somber. “That’s the Hub network’s conclusion. Implants infiltrate the bloodstream—like venom—to turn Runners into killers.”
He looked around the tense circle of faces. “But as Jane just said, it’s not random. Runners are given specific targets, and—somehow—given access into the Enclave.”
Amos was speechless.
“Right past the Hoarders’ supposedly air-tight security.” Sheila blanched, collapsing into a chair. “Garr, do you realize how much collusion there’d have to be inside the Enclave for a strategy like this to work?”
She raised a shaky hand to her forehead. “We’re dealing with a complex web of political intrigue, and they’ve been manipulating us like marionettes.”
“Hoarders are Implanting people to carry out political assassinations.” Amos’s fists clenched as he connected the dots. “And opposing Hoarders send out Trackers to thwart them. I can hate Hoarders for either reason.”
“This has to stop!” Jane cried, slamming her fists on the tabletop. Coffee spilled as her mug danced. “Hoarders can’t use us—use little kids—like we’re their pawns!”
“It will stop, Jane,” Amos said, an icy resolve settling into his gut. It was a promise to himself as much as anyone else. “Even if we have to kill every Hoarder in the Enclave.”
His jaw clenched as he added privately, For Trey.
Sheila stiffened, her expression alarmed under the swelling and bruises. “We can’t kill all the Hoarders, Amos. We’d be no different than them.”
Amos bit back a sharp reply, feeling the hot flush of shame creeping up his cheeks. She’s right, you idiot. This can’t be about revenge.
He raised his hands in surrender, nodding at Sheila to acknowledge her rebuke. She returned his gaze, eyes searching his face, and relaxed.
“It’s time we stopped Running.” Garr gestured to the rumpled pile of notes. “The Hubs are unanimous on this. We need to go on the offensive. Hidden in plain sight doesn’t mean the Hoarders won’t feel the effects of our presence. Not anymore.”
A new voice interrupted from the doorway at the other end of the mess hall. It was Don, uncharacteristically soft-spoken.
Amos’s inner voice sounded a shrill alarm. Why isn’t he guarding the Tracker?
Don cast a dark gaze around the room. “Doc wants all of you in the infirmary. Now.”