“…ninety-nine, one hundred.” Grace finished her count and rose from where she’d been crouched, in the back yard behind one of the houses that bordered Rock Ledge Ranch to the south. She slipped through a gap in the fence and moved to stand in the middle of the deserted street, scanning in a slow circle, letting her eyes float and probe, her ears tuned to every stray sound: the brush of the late afternoon breeze through the nearby cottonwoods, the rustle of overgrown bushes against empty houses, the occasional chirp of a nearby robin, warning of the coming rain.
By now, she’d learned to trust her senses; she’d know if something was off. When nothing triggered her inner alarms, she turned and ran swiftly down the path to the Chambers House, her footfalls only soft crunches on the gravel. She circled the house when she arrived, once again opening her senses to feel for danger, perceiving none. The house was safe. And deserted. She knew before she even opened the door and stepped into the kitchen that Verity was gone.
Again.
Grace opened the door to the modern bathroom off the back side of the kitchen, and Persephone greeted her with dancing feet, nails clicking a joyous rhythm on the floor. Verity had left the little dog with fresh water and a blanket for a bed, just as she’d done the previous five days. Grace sighed heavily and scooped Persephone up for a cuddle as she carried her outside. Nothing to do now but hang out on the front porch and wait for Verity to bring Death back to the ranch with her.
“Because that’s what she’s going to do, you mark my words.” She set Persephone down on the grass, watching for a moment as she sniffed around before taking care of business. When the dog was finished, she trotted off to sniff around the old animal barns which were empty now. Grace headed for the porch. She settled onto one of the benches and hunched forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes alternating between Persephone and the trail on which Verity was likely to return. “She’s going to lead them right back here, like some kind of Pied Piper. Like Hansel and Gretel, dropping white pebbles.”
Grace had fallen back into the habit of talking to herself, in part because she was the only person she could rely on to make sense. Verity was prone to announcements such as, “Figs are quite nutritious when they’re not in Newton form,” or, “According to my sources, Channing Tatum didn’t cross over in the plague, but his wife did. I think my chances are good there, even if Raphael says it’s not meant to be...” Grace just nodded. A lot.
By now, she could see the writing on the wall: She was in a race against luck. While she scuttled around on the outskirts of the gang in her corpse-scented clothing, with her pepper-induced hives and streaming nose, Verity did God-knew-what, God-knew-where. Grace had begged her to go back home. Failing that, she’d begged her to just stay at the Chambers House and keep Persephone safe. But no. Oh, no. Verity wouldn’t say where she’d been or what her objective in leaving was, and the more Grace pressed the issue, the more nonsensical Verity became.
When begging hadn’t worked, Grace had tried to talk herself into just leaving the eccentric woman behind, but she had Persephone to consider. She had never intended to bring the little dog, had planned to leave her with Anne, but nothing on this journey was going according to her carefully thought-out plan. For a few hours at a time, Persephone was fine when shut in the bathroom. But what if something happened to Grace? What if she was discovered and re-captured? She wouldn’t escape a second time, of that she was certain. The thought of dooming Persephone to a slow death by starvation and dehydration was not to be borne. Left free to roam, the little dog would follow her, endangering them both. Grace felt responsible for Persephone, of course, and inexplicably, for Verity as well. As badly as they were mucking up her plans, she couldn’t just abandon them.
To compound her frustration, she hadn’t learned much so far. As she had expected, the gang had closed their perimeter, and rumors buzzed of plans to blitz outlying communities later in the summer, but she had yet to talk to someone who had hard facts. Grace had slipped back into her fringe position in the group by virtue of a full bottle of vodka she’d “borrowed” from Rowan’s supply months ago. Loudmouth himself had remembered and cleared her at the checkpoint with a bark of laughter and a sneer.
“Where ya been, Stinky?” he’d asked as he’d waved her through. Grace had been ready with a cover story, but he hadn’t asked. She had swiped a greasy hand under her nose to hide a smirk as she’d sauntered right past one of the men who had brutalized her. Right past one of the men who might be Lark’s father. Right past one of the men on her short list to see dead. She kept that irony in her mind like a pampered pet, stroking it whenever what she was seeing became too much.
As hard as it was to believe, conditions had deteriorated even further. The majority of people still living under the protection of the gang had become nothing more than slave labor. For the life of her, Grace couldn’t imagine why they stayed. Fear was one thing, but had all these people lost their memories? Did they really think their only option was to endure terror and abuse in exchange for getting their basic survival needs met? Sometimes, it was all Grace could do not to stop the next person scurrying by and whisper to them: Do you know how valuable you are? Do you understand how precious your life is? You’re a survivor! She refrained, of course, but the effort of doing so was starting to wear on her. They were like sleepwalkers, stumbling around in an endless nightmare, just waiting for someone to wake them up.
In the past few days, Grace hadn’t seen a single child and very few women. The “nightly show” was still going on and still involved rape as well as gladiator-style combat between unwilling participants. But from what Grace had gathered, they’d run out of women to keep as disposable victims. Instead, women were chosen from among the survivors to service the gang leaders and were allowed to return to the general populace, humiliated and bleeding, but alive. No less sickening or terrifying, just conservation of resources. Grace had forced herself to watch for three nights running, until she’d figured out the lay of the land. Now, she just kept her ear to the ground for whispers and rumors during the day and cleared out before they fired up the lights and the music each night.
As far as the helicopters were concerned, she’d learned almost nothing beyond what she’d already guessed – gang-affiliated group on Fort Carson was in possession of the aircraft, and in this populace, that was all anybody knew. Grace was frustrated by the all-around lack of information and knowledge. She needed to know numbers. How many helicopters did they have? Was aviation fuel more stable than regular gasoline? If so, how long was that fuel good for, and how much did they have? How many pilots had they managed to train? Answering those questions had become her top priority. She planned to skulk around this encampment for one more day. After that, she had to ditch Verity and Persephone – somehow – and find a way to infiltrate the Fort Carson group. She didn’t have the same “in” there as she had here, and given how tight security was likely to be, she had no idea how she was going to pull that off.
Just the thought made her stomach clench violently. Attuned as always to the needs of the people around her, Persephone chose that moment to abandon her sniffing. She trotted up to the porch, butterfly ears bouncing perkily, and leaped onto Grace’s lap, curling into a little, comforting ball. Grace leaned back, feeling her tight muscles and tense shoulders ease, pulling Persephone’s small, sturdy body onto her chest. She may not have intended to bring the little dog with her, but she was sure glad she was here, especially when the reality of what she planned to do loomed so dark and large.
Grace may not have learned much since she’d arrived back in the Springs, but she’d reached an important conclusion: It wouldn’t be possible to achieve both of her objectives. She could either focus on taking out the gang leadership, or she could focus on disabling the helicopters. Not both. The likelihood that she would survive the execution of either objective was too slim. Once she got a look at the situation on Fort Carson, she’d make her choice, but the question to be answered was simple: Which path would give Lark the greatest chance at a future? She couldn’t be a mother to her daughter, but she could stand between the baby girl and danger. Grace’s own survival was secondary. And unlikely. And that was okay.
She rubbed her hand over and over the small, soft curve of Persephone’s back as she thought about this. She didn’t consider herself suicidal. She wasn’t feeling despair or suffering from depression. She didn’t want to die. She had a job to do, and logic and analysis told her she probably wouldn’t be able to do that job from a safe distance. Whichever course she chose, she was going to have to walk into the very heart of danger. Walking out unharmed was improbable. She knew cognitively that the prospect of her own death should frighten her, or at the very least make her sad, but all she felt was a curious, calm determination.
This was all Verity’s fault.
It was the strangest thing, but it was nearly impossible to feel fear when Verity was around. It had nothing to do with physical prowess of any kind. Grace had never seen Verity so much as swat a fly. Nor did it have anything to do with trust. As nearly as Grace could figure, Verity served a Divine agenda that had little to do with human hopes, fears or goals. Grace didn’t trust her, not even a little bit. Rather, it was what happened when you looked into her laughing, innocent, all-knowing eyes. Grace considered herself a practical and down-to-earth person, but she would swear you could glimpse the Cosmos in that pure blue. Fear just dissolved, sorrow softened, horror was filtered through an infinite perspective and given context.
The first few days back, when she’d been struggling to acclimate once again to the dark violence around the gang, the phenomenon had terrified her. Fear kept her alive, kept her instincts functioning at maximum sensitivity, kept her from getting careless and making a mistake. Fear helped her feel the gaze of eyes that were too interested, helped her know when to change course and take a different path. Without fear, she was as good as dead. Now, the best she could work up to was a healthy agitation.
It had nothing to do with complacency, and everything to do with the strange conviction that settled in her heart whenever she looked into Verity’s eyes: Things were unfolding as they should, and no matter what happened, Grace would be okay.
At that thought, Grace snorted. When Verity wasn’t around, it was much easier to apply logic to the paradox. Grade had been lucky. And she had to complete her tasks before the odds shifted.
“Hello!”
Grace looked up and had time for exactly one thought before her survival mechanism kicked in: “Too late.”
She was off the porch of the Chambers House and running before she took her next breath. Persephone raced at her heels, easily keeping pace as they pounded down the gravel path towards the barn. As Grace ran, her brain registered what she’d seen: Verity, waving cheerfully, followed by two hulks carrying rifles at the ready across their chests. Her mind replayed the men’s movements, the rolling prowl of their gaits, the way their heads swiveled in synchronized vigilance, the aura of menace that preceded them. Military. And in Colorado Springs, post-plague, that meant the gang.
Grace slid to a stop in front of the barn door and slapped the latch, reaching inside the cool dark to grab the go-bag she’d positioned right beside the door. She slung one strap over her shoulder and pivoted, her whole body coiling for a fresh sprint, when a sudden jerk made the world cartwheel. Her feet flew out from under her, and she landed on her back so hard the air was driven from her lungs. For precious seconds, she could neither move nor breathe.
A huge man stepped out of the barn, still hanging on to the other strap of her go-bag. Like the men behind Verity, he carried a rifle – an AR-15 like the one Piper used. Grace’s brain was on overdrive, cataloguing and analyzing tiny details. His finger rested near the trigger of the rifle, but he didn’t point it at her. His eyes were the coldest blue she’d ever seen, his face a blank, unreadable mask.
A scatter of gravel hit Grace in the face, making her flinch. Persephone had raced ahead, then doubled back. She slid to a stop between Grace and the man, barking wildly. She backed her little rump against Grace and shoved, trying with all her small might to urge Grace to safety while she snarled and snapped. The man stared down at the little dog, then met Grace’s gaze.
“Call it off or I’ll shoot it.”
Grace struggled to sit up and scoot back in the same motion, mind racing, as the first puzzle piece dislodged from the picture she’d formed. That didn’t make any sense. A member of the gang would have already shot Persephone with immediate plans to gut, skin and spit her over a fire for dinner. She hauled the little dog into her lap, scooting back again, then burst into action once more.
Tossing Persephone in one direction, she launched in the other. She was only a few feet away from the steps that led up to the Chambers Trail. Persephone would find her – they’d been playing hide-and-seek on these trails and the others that led away from the ranch for the last several days. If Grace could just make it to the top of the steps, he’d never catch her –
Once again, her feet flew out from under her when a hand fisted in her shirt between her shoulder blades. Grace had been half-expecting it this time, and instead of struggling, she went limp, flopping to the ground like a rag doll. The man held onto her this time, and Grace used every bit of willpower she possessed to keep her muscles lax, limp. Finally, he let her go, and the second his hand released her shirt, she was up again.
This time, though, she didn’t run. She balanced on the balls of her feet and locked eyes with him. In her very depths, she’d gone still as stone. She hadn’t been certain how she’d react if she was captured again. Now she knew.
“You’ll have to kill me,” she said quietly. The animal-like growling of a long-dead girl echoed in her ears, and Grace remembered the contempt she’d felt – why die fighting when you could submit and live another day, live to escape? She understood now, and sent an apology winging to that girl’s soul, wherever it now resided. “Either kill me now, or I will find a way to kill myself. I won’t go back. I won’t be used again.”
Persephone shot out of the underbrush and pressed against Grace’s leg. The man glanced down at her tiny, snarling, up-turned face, then looked at Grace again. “You were just planning to run off and leave your friend to her fate?”
Grace’s brows drew in. What kind of mind game was this? There was no logical reason for him to ask her such a question. She chose to not answer, lifting her chin and staring at him. Most people couldn’t stand silence, and if he started filling it, she might learn what was going on here.
Unfortunately, he seemed to be familiar with the gambit. Patience settled around him, a cloak of watchful stillness. After the longest minute of Grace’s life, a low whistle sounded from down by the barn. The man whistled back, and Grace heard the muffled thump of boots jogging up the trail. Her heart picked up, speeding with both fear and hope. All she needed was a moment, a single moment of distraction. She could run like the wind, and she knew every turn, rise and fall of these trails.
One of the hulks appeared at the top of the trail, a baby-faced man who might be in his mid-twenties at the most, at least a decade younger than the man who’d captured her. The younger man’s eyes touched the fresh dirt and debris on Grace’s filthy clothes, took in Persephone’s tiny fierceness, then lifted to the other man. “Everything under control?”
His attitude was deferential. Her captor, then, was probably the leader of the trio. The older man nodded, his gaze never leaving Grace. “We were just discussing how to proceed.”
“Ah. Okay.” The younger man nodded as well. After 30 seconds of nothing but softly chirping birds and Persephone’s constant, low snarl, he started talking, obviously not comfortable with the strategy of silence. “She went for the go-bag, just like Verity said she would.”
The older man’s face tightened ever-so-slightly, the barest hint of annoyance. Still, he didn’t blink or look away. His gaze made Grace think of a snake mesmerizing its prey, of Kaa in The Jungle Book. He grunted a confirmation, and once more, silence reigned. Then, the words sank in. Grace surrendered the stare-down and turned to look at the younger man, eyes narrowing as she thought about what he’d just said.
In all the time she’d spent with the gang, she had never once heard one of the men call one of the girls by name. Dumb Bitch. The Sisters. Cowgirl. They all had their nicknames. Grace’s eyes shifted back and forth between the men. The time for silence was over.
“You’re not with the gang. Who are you?”
The older man’s face gave nothing away. “How do you know we’re not with the gang?”
“You didn’t kill my dog. You didn’t hurt me after I ran.” She glanced at the younger man, then returned her gaze to the leader. “He knew Verity’s name. And used it.”
After a moment, the older man nodded. “Verity said you were intelligent, as well as knowledgeable about the gang. You escaped from them?”
The question was asked with such matter-of-factness, it allowed Grace to answer the same way. “Yes. How do you know Verity?”
Another careful measure of silence, and the older man replied. “We met her when we brought Piper home to Woodland Park.”
Grace’s eyes flew open wide. “You know Piper? You were part of her group?” Her mind raced through the few facts she knew. She hadn’t been present at Piper’s return and had only her father’s bare-bones, carefully-edited account of the dramatic event to go by. Piper had never talked about it. Grace wasn’t even sure how many people had continued on, after Piper, Ethan, Elise and her kids had been left behind. She could wish that she’d pumped her dad for more information, but all she really needed was the answer to one question: “Are you Brody?”
The younger man flinched. Later, Grace would remember that. Right now, though, she was focused on the older man, watching him for signs of deception or subterfuge. She didn’t have her dad’s radar for lies, but she’d learned a lot about reading body language. After another lengthy pause, the older man answered. His voice was completely level, neutral. His posture, his hands, his face, all said he was telling the truth. “No. We left him behind. You can call me Levi. This is Tyler.”
Grace glanced at the younger man. “The mechanic. Ethan spoke well of you. He misses your cooking.”
Tyler nodded, a brief smile flitting across his baby face, but didn’t quite make eye contact. “Ethan is a good man. I hope he’s hangin’ in, him and Elise and the kids.”
“They’re all fine.” Niceties done, Grace turned back to Levi. “What do you want?”
“Information. Whatever you’re willing to share, about the area and the gang. Verity suggested you might be of assistance. She…” He grimaced slightly, “Found us this morning. We were camped on Monument Creek, south of the gang’s territory.”
Grace nodded. “No-man’s land. Are the lions still in the area?”
“From what we could ascertain, just the male. The lionesses have moved east, onto the plains. The male has been sighted recently by some of the people settled further south on Monument Creek, but he appears to have been wounded, and it looks like he’s starving. They don’t think he’ll make it much longer.”
Grace felt a sharp stab of loss at the news. It had satisfied her, knowing they had survived, knowing they were roaming free. She brushed the sorrow aside. “You said Verity found you. Is that what she’s been doing every day? Looking for you?”
For the first time, Levi looked less than sure of himself. “Yes. That’s what she said, in any case.” He gazed at Grace, his brow furrowed. “It’s unclear what she’s talking about much of the time. You’re aware that she’s unstable and frequently disconnected from reality?”
Grace snorted. “Yeah. I had noticed that, now that you mention it.” She bent down and picked up Persephone, whose hostility had softened into a hard, watchful stare. Grace straightened and locked eyes with Levi. “I’ll share what I know with you and your men, if you’ll share what you’ve learned with me.”
Levi nodded. “That’s fair.”
Grace didn’t look away. “And if you give me your word that neither you nor your men will harm either Verity or I.”
Another nod, no hesitation. “You have my word.”
He slung his rifle over his shoulder and gestured for her to precede him back down the path. Wordlessly, Grace complied. Tyler fell into step behind them, though he didn’t put his rifle away, moving instead with the same prowling watchfulness Grace had noted before. They walked in silence until they reached the path behind the barn and started towards the Chambers House. On the front porch, Verity was gesturing animatedly as she chattered to the other hulk. Even from this distance, the man looked baffled.
Grace looked up at Levi, who had moved to walk beside her. “You’re all military. Did you serve together?”
“No.” Like Tyler, Levi’s arctic-blue eyes never stopped scanning, though he glanced at her briefly. “I was in the Marines. Tyler and Adam were both Army Rangers. They met in basic on Fort Carson. My father and an old friend of his put our group together. We were in Walden until we got burned out.”
“Piper mentioned the fire.” Grace was quiet for a few moments. She didn’t want to probe too deeply, wasn’t yet ready to find out if this man and his companions had been complicit in Piper’s abuse at Brody’s hands. She’d get their information first, and make decisions from there. She shifted gears. “So Verity told you she’s been looking for you? Did she say why?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, it’s more than she told me. I didn’t plan for her to come along, or even ask her to. Now I can’t get rid of her.”
What might have been amusement lifted a corner of Levi’s mouth, though it didn’t warm his eyes. Grace doubted those eyes could warm, ever. Again, his scanning gaze touched her briefly before moving on. “You were relatively safe in Woodland Park, from what Verity told us. Why did you leave? Are you looking for revenge?”
Grace kept her face still. “That’s private,” she said calmly. She wasn’t intimidated by stone-faced ex-Marines, being the daughter of one. She turned the question back on him. “What about you? Why are you three still in the area? You left Woodland Park months ago.”
Levi didn’t answer right away, which wasn’t a surprise. Grace had already observed he parceled out every word he said, like the most valuable currency. As they neared the Chambers House, he stopped walking and turned to look at Tyler. He gestured with his head, and the young man slipped around them, joining Verity and a relieved-looking Adam on the porch. Then Levi turned to face her.
“The gang needs to end,” he said bluntly. “The most expedient way to bring that about is to eliminate the leadership.”
“On that, we agree.” Grace paused. “Why is this your fight?”
Levi gazed at her, still and thoughtful, then shifted his gaze to a point beyond her shoulder. “I live by a code. There are rules. The men in the gang have broken that code.” His eyes went slightly unfocused, and his voice took on a rhythmic cant, as if he were reciting a verse from memory. “Any man who rapes a child is lower than an animal and needs to be put down. No exceptions.”
He met her eyes once more, and they stood there in the late afternoon sun, considering each other.
These men should terrify her. Why they didn’t, Grace couldn’t say. She didn’t doubt they were as lethal as any member of the gang she’d known, and more deadly than some. Maybe it was Verity’s presence, maybe it was some instinct she couldn’t verbalize, but somehow she knew they would not harm her. Somehow, she knew they were part of the “rightness” that had settled around her heart. Since such knowings were exceedingly rare for Grace, she trusted them when they showed up. It would all be okay. She nodded. “That’s reason enough for me.”
They walked up on the porch, where Grace was introduced to Adam. Tyler volunteered to put together a meal from their combined provisions, and they all moved inside. Grace, Levi and Adam sat around the table while Tyler moved efficiently around the kitchen. Verity flittered around the room like a hyperactive pixie for a few minutes, then took Persephone back outside.
Conversation was stilted at first, but took off when Grace learned the three men had scouted the perimeter of Fort Carson. She left the table briefly and came back with the grubby, ragged map of the mountain post she’d found in the glove box of an abandoned vehicle. She spread it out on the table, her heart beating faster with excitement. “Show me where the helicopters are.”
Adam glanced at Levi as if seeking permission, then reached out and touched a spot almost dead-center in the rough triangle that was Fort Carson. “Here.” He traced another line, a rough rectangle, around the spot he’d indicated. “They’ve brought their borders in, redistributed their personnel and resources, but they’ve kept the airfield pretty much dead center.”
Grace’s heart sank. If he was right, the helicopters were miles from any perimeter. Just getting a look at them would almost certainly mean getting past layer upon layer of security. After a moment, Adam spoke.
“Why do you want to know about the helicopters?”
“Why do you think?” Grace snapped. She rubbed at her forehead, then sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m sorry. Those aircraft pose an enormous threat to the outlying communities. Even if I’m able to eliminate the core of the gang’s leadership, they’re still a problem. They negate distance as a safety measure, and they’re just too powerful to defend against.”
Grace suddenly felt exhausted, then felt irritated with herself for feeling that way. Had she really thought the helicopters would be conveniently situated, conveniently unguarded, conveniently waiting to be sabotaged? While she was indulging in wishful thinking, she might as well hope they’d all have a big, red button labeled, “To blow up aircraft, press HERE.” She stared at the map without seeing it for a few moments. Then she shook herself and pressed on. “Did you get an accurate count as to how many they had of each type? Or how much fuel they’ve got?”
Tyler appeared from around the corner in the kitchen. As he spoke, he dried his hands on a cheerful yellow dish towel. “No way to know about the fuel – too many variables. Under some circumstances, avgas is more stable than mogas, but we have no idea how that fuel has been stored over the last year, whether stabilizers were added, nothing. But there’s this – whoever has them in the air feels like they have enough fuel to put up training flights.”
He turned and tossed the dish towel onto the little wooden table he’d been working at, then leaned a shoulder against the door jamb. “As for a count, we’ve only got the roughest estimate. We could only see the airfield from one angle, long-distance. We had visual on fourteen Black Hawks, four Apaches, and two Chinooks, but I know Carson was scheduled to receive 24 of the new AH-64E Apaches before the plague.” He shook his head, voice warming with enthusiasm in spite of the circumstances. “Man, those E-style machines are something else. Upgraded electronics and flight instruments, a new powertrain that’s tons more effective at altitude, and each one can carry up to 16 Hellfire missiles. Whisper-quiet, too – you can’t even hear them beyond a few hundred yards.” Another head shake. “If we could get our hands on just one of them, we could take out all the rest.”
And just like that, the roller-coaster swooped back up again. Tyler’s words shifted and jostled her mental map, creating possibility where there had been impossibility moments before. Grace felt a prickle along her scalp as puzzle pieces started to click into place and a picture started to form. She stared at Tyler. “Could you fly one of them?”
Tyler shrugged. “Sure, given enough time to fart around and figure shit out.”
Adam spoke again. “Doesn’t matter if he could fly one or not. There’s no way to get anywhere near them. We’ve been watching them on-again-off-again for weeks, and those birds are always under heavy guard. Security got even thicker after they started putting them in the air.”
“I could get in.”
All three men just stared at her. Then, Levi joined the conversation for the first time. He inclined his head to her clothes. “You move among them freely? Disguised like this?”
“Not quite like this.” Grace took the sachet of black pepper out of her pocket and pressed it to her nose, then gave a mighty sneeze. She scratched her neck, and looked at them through reddened, watering eyes. She swiped at her streaming nose, and let her mouth drop open slackly. Last of all, she let her eyes drift, empty and dumb. “More like this.”
Adam and Tyler exchanged amused grins, but Levi’s face remained serious. “If they figure out you were once their captive, they’ll kill you, and they won’t make it quick. They’ll make an example of you.”
“I know that.” The plan was coming together rapidly in her mind, the details, the logistics. And there was a role only she could play. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”
Grace rose from the table and went to the antique wooden sideboard across the room, opening the doors underneath. Inside, she had stored every scrap of written information she had accumulated on the gang, both her original project, and everything she’d gathered since, including rough sketches of the original six leaders. She was no artist, but she’d done the best she could, accompanying each sketch with every physical detail she could recall. She brought the materials to the table and began to spread them out.
“This is everything I know. All of it.” She touched a filthy stack of ragged papers filled with her tiny, meticulous hand-writing. “This original document contains every word I heard spoken during my nineteen days with them. They didn’t worry about watching what they said around the girls – most of us were dead in under two weeks. As far as I know, I’m the only one who survived from those early days.”
She set the six sketches out but kept her face turned away as she did so. Her emotions were not appropriate here. These men would respond best to an appeal to logic. “These six were the leaders then, but at least eight more men are now part of the inner circle. I haven’t gotten close enough to the new men to learn anything or even to provide an accurate sketch. To be thorough, they should all be terminated, but there is only one man that needs to be killed at any cost. The Boss.” She touched his sketch. “He did not participate in the rapes nor did he partake of the drugs or alcohol. He watched, and he planned. In my opinion, he must be eliminated. If he survives, even if all the others are killed, the gang will go on.”
She began setting out another series of documents. “This is all the information I’ve gathered moving among them as a boy. It’s not much. I’ve had direct contact with only Bean Counter – people call him Mr. Watts – and Loudmouth.” She couldn’t stop the curl of her lip when she touched his sketch. “Five of the original six leaders live on the old Colorado College campus. From what I’ve heard, the sixth is in charge on Fort Carson.”
She touched the sketch of Sleeper, then straightened and gazed around at all three men. “He would recognize me. If you turn me in to him on Fort Carson, you’re in. There was a reward for my return after I escaped. You could convince him you’d kept me for yourselves for a while, then decided to cash in when you got tired of me.” She looked at Levi. “Like you said, they’ll want to make an example of me. I’ll be brought back to the CC campus, but you won’t need to worry about that. You find a way to get Tyler into one of those Apaches, and he can get the job done.” She fidgeted with her papers, thinking hard. “If I could find a way to keep a weapon on me, just a small knife, I might be able to get close enough to the Boss to end him. My dad was a Marine, too.” She glanced at Levi. “He always said you could kill someone with a toothpick, if you used it right.”
As she had talked, Tyler had abandoned the kitchen doorway and moved to stand beside the table, lifting her papers and examining them one by one. He looked up at her with an expression she couldn’t quite define. “Let me get this straight: You left Woodland Park, and you came here planning to both assassinate the gang leaders and destroy all of the helicopters?”
Grace lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“By yourself?”
Grace kept her chin high, though it took every bit of determination she had. “I know it sounds ridiculous. I had reached the conclusion that I couldn’t achieve both objectives, and I was in the process of analyzing which course I should choose. Which task I was the most likely to succeed at. Until they got the helicopters in the air, my original plan was to disrupt the behavior patterns in their power base, to create alternative beliefs over time, person to person.”
“You’ve studied Roszak,” Levi said. His expression, too, was impossible to decipher. “Unfortunately, ‘it is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere.’”
“Voltaire.” Grace nodded. “People stay because they can’t see an alternative. The gang’s power is fear-derived, constructed on the mindless dependence of the masses. If I could have convinced those masses that they don’t need to be either afraid or dependent, I could have dismantled the gang’s power base without violence. But the helicopters changed everything. We’re out of time.”
Gently, she removed a notepad from Tyler’s hands, flipping to show them the timeline she’d originally projected. It had been such an elegant plan, and talking about it was satisfying, even if it was moot. “I had established just about the perfect cover for it. If there were more kids around, I’d have been talking to them, every chance I got. Children are very sensitive about injustice and very powerful agents of change. There was this kids’ movie, with ants and grasshoppers…”
She trailed off at the expressions on Adam’s and Tyler’s faces. Adam had laced his fingers on top of his head and was glaring at the ceiling like there was something there he wanted to kill. Tyler was staring at her, bumping his fist against his mouth as if trying to hide his expression, but his eyes said it all. Angry. And sad. Grace looked at Levi, but his face remained inscrutable. She looked back at Tyler.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Adam spoke. “How old are you, Grace?”
“Seventeen.” She shook her head slightly. “Eighteen. I keep forgetting. What does that have to do with anything?”
Tyler spoke. “You talk about kids as if you’re not one, but I’ve gotta tell you, we had you pegged at fourteen. Tops. Just-turned eighteen doesn’t seem all that different. Not to us. We don’t use children to fight our battles. Before this whole shit-storm of a plague went down, we saw enough of that on the other side of the world.”
Grace started to interrupt, and Adam tagged in. “No. Just no. You’re a tactician, we’ll give you that. Your plan is brilliant.” His eyes flicked to Levi. “But we won’t send you to your death. And that’s what your plan amounts to.”
Grace didn’t bother arguing. She turned to Levi. “Can I talk to you alone?”
Levi slid his eyes to both Adam and Tyler and tilted his head towards the door. They rose and left the house, both of them moving with graceful stealth that was automatic. Grace waiting until the door had clicked shut behind them, then met Levi’s gaze.
“How have you all changed? Since the plague, I mean?”
His face gave nothing away. He considered her for a moment, then answered. “Both Adam and Tyler have increased intuition. I wouldn’t advise playing cards against either one.” A much longer pause this time. “I see…future possibilities. What the outcome of the current situation is likely to be.”
Something about that nagged at Grace’s memory, but she set it aside to be considered later. She leaned forward. “I haven’t changed.” She waved her hand at her stacks and notes and diagrams. “I could do all of this before. I didn’t evolve, like the rest of you did. I don’t subscribe to all of Verity’s talk of a Divine Path, but I do believe in fulfilling a destiny.”
She hesitated, then reached across the table and gripped his forearm. Without their help, she was dead in the water, and she knew it. Verity had brought them into this to help her. She was more sure of it than she’d ever been of anything. “I wasn’t selected by nature, don’t you see? This is the best thing I can do with my life. What higher purpose could I possibly aspire to? If I can use my brains to make something useful of the hell I survived, if I can take the circumstances they forced on me and use it to end them, then I’m good. I can call it a good life, and know that I did everything I could to leave a better world behind.”
Levi leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his huge chest. “Very altruistic. But you would have run and left Verity behind. That doesn’t add up.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “It will when you know her better. Ask her to touch you one of these days – just lay her hand on your arm or touch your shoulder. You’ll see first-hand why I wasn’t worried about leaving her.”
Levi looked away, and for the first time, Grace sensed subterfuge in him. “I may know what you’re talking about,” he said in a low voice. Then, he sat up straight and leaned forward. He grabbed Grace’s legal pad and flipped to a clean page. “The logistics shouldn’t be complicated, but we should have at least two contingencies. It’s just over ten miles to the northern border of Fort Carson. How fast do you travel overland?”
Grace swallowed. She swallowed again, and looked at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. They were going to help her. Just to be sure, she had to verbalize it. “You’re going to help me. You’re actually going to help. You’re not just speculating or considering?”
Levi’s hands stilled on the pad of paper. He stared at his hands, then stared at her. For the very first time, she saw something that looked like strong emotion move across his features. “We’ll help you,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve seen it. It’s my destiny, too.”