Unleashed
Page 50
He kissed me. I curse under my breath. What did he go and do that for? That kiss is the last thing I needed.
And no matter where I’m going, I know I will always remember him. The dead already haunt me. Now I’ll be haunted by the living, too.
PART TWO
CROSSINGS
* * *
911 Transcript
911 DISPATCHER 02910: What’s your emergency?
BETTINA MORGAN: Oh my God! Help! Help us! We’re dying!
911 DISPATCHER 02910: Ma’am, calm down. Can I have your name?
BETTINA MORGAN: Bettina. Bettina Morgan.
911 DISPATCHER 02910: (typing) Bettina, where are you?
BETTINA MORGAN: I’m at the Wainwright Headquarters on Fourteenth Street. Th-there’s been an explosion. Bodies are everywhere. I’m hurt. My leg . . . oh my God. My leg . . . (sobbing) I—I can’t walk. I’m just twenty! God, oh God! I don’t want to die!
911 DISPATCHER 02910: (typing) Stay where you are, Bettina. Can you do that? Help is on the way.
BETTINA MORGAN: (whispering) Please, p-please. I can’t feel my leg.
911 DISPATCHER 02910: Can you look around and describe your surroundings? Are you on the first floor? Bettina? Where are you in the building?
BETTINA MORGAN: I was on the third floor, b-but the explosion . . . there’s debris everywhere. I don’t recognize anything. Everything’s been leveled. There’s light to my left. Maybe an opening that way.
911 DISPATCHER 02910: (typing) Good. Can you call out? Shout for help?
BETTINA MORGAN: I never wanted to work here. My dad said the internship would look good on my résumé. You know my driver’s ed teacher turned out to be a carrier. He was a nice old guy, but they sent him to a camp. (sobbing) He was a grandpa. He kept pictures of his grandkids on the visor. I shouldn’t be here. I should never have—
911 DISPATCHER 02910: Bettina, I need you to calm down so that you can help me help you. Understand?
BETTINA MORGAN: This is my punishment. Don’t you see? We’re all being punished. . . .
SEVENTEEN
TABATHA IS RIGHT ABOUT THE VAN AT LEAST. WE don’t have to go very far. Thankfully. We all make it, even me, the caboose, holding my free hand out in case I fall, stumbling blindly over broken and uneven ground.
Once we’re inside the back of the van, Tabatha is good to her word and announces we can remove our blindfolds. The windows are blacked out, so we won’t be seeing much of anything besides one another’s faces, but still. I look around, almost as if I expect to see Caden somewhere in the van with us. As if that final glimpse, that taste, of him wasn’t the last.
I note the outline of a man behind the driver’s wheel, his shape shadowy and indistinct in the gloom of the van.
I turn back to the windows and strain my eyes as I stare at the painted glass, wondering about the direction of the compound. Then I wonder why it matters. I’ve left that place. Never to return. My future lies ahead.
We drive maybe an hour before the van stops. We don’t have to put the blindfolds on again before we’re urged from the van and herded through the brush into a small clearing. There’s a small fire pit, so I know they’ve used this spot as a camp before. In the not-so-far distance, I think I hear the gurgle of running water. I stand off to the side, listening as the van drives away, leaving us, feeling very alone even though I’m not.
The others mingle together, familiar with one another. I hadn’t spent any time at the compound with them. It didn’t seem important. Or necessarily wise. We’ll part ways soon enough after we cross. Maybe some of them are going to the same refuge as me. Maybe not. I don’t care either way. Can’t afford to. Caden’s face flashes across my mind like a blinding bright snapshot and I kill it, shove it back into the dark. My lips hum, and I resist the urge to brush my fingers there.
My chest feels hollow as I look out at the horizon. Morning tints the sky, edging the landscape in orange as several of the carriers find a place to sit. I stand. I sat long enough inside the van. A restlessness buzzes through my muscles. I can hear the river, just a faint murmur in the distance, and know we’re close. We’ll cross today. I’ll leave the country of my birth behind. My family. Regret pinches my heart. But then I left them behind months ago. The moment I tested positive for HTS. Even Mitchell. As much as I love him and he loves me, my brother is virtually as far from me as the moon.
My nerves stretch and thrum with tension. I glance around, feeling exposed and vulnerable out in the open like this. Despite the attack on my life, there was a measure of security within the compound. Out here, in the open, anyone could find us. Border Patrol. The Agency. Vigilante civilians. Or rogue carriers—which yes, seems to be a bit of an oxymoron in itself. Or even people from Mount Haven. If they’re still looking. The list of threats seems endless. And my life feels dark and hopeless with the possibilities swirling around in my head.
“You thought you were going to stay, didn’t you?” There’s a definite smirk to her voice.
I hadn’t even heard Tabatha approach. I turn and stare at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”
“Caden. You thought he wanted you to stay.”
I don’t bother letting her know that he asked me to more than once. She obviously has a thing for him, and me getting on her bad side—even more than I am—when I already have to rely on her to get me across the border is just all kinds of dumb.
So I play ignorant and kick at the dirt with the toe of my shoe. “I don’t know what you mean.”
And no matter where I’m going, I know I will always remember him. The dead already haunt me. Now I’ll be haunted by the living, too.
PART TWO
CROSSINGS
* * *
911 Transcript
911 DISPATCHER 02910: What’s your emergency?
BETTINA MORGAN: Oh my God! Help! Help us! We’re dying!
911 DISPATCHER 02910: Ma’am, calm down. Can I have your name?
BETTINA MORGAN: Bettina. Bettina Morgan.
911 DISPATCHER 02910: (typing) Bettina, where are you?
BETTINA MORGAN: I’m at the Wainwright Headquarters on Fourteenth Street. Th-there’s been an explosion. Bodies are everywhere. I’m hurt. My leg . . . oh my God. My leg . . . (sobbing) I—I can’t walk. I’m just twenty! God, oh God! I don’t want to die!
911 DISPATCHER 02910: (typing) Stay where you are, Bettina. Can you do that? Help is on the way.
BETTINA MORGAN: (whispering) Please, p-please. I can’t feel my leg.
911 DISPATCHER 02910: Can you look around and describe your surroundings? Are you on the first floor? Bettina? Where are you in the building?
BETTINA MORGAN: I was on the third floor, b-but the explosion . . . there’s debris everywhere. I don’t recognize anything. Everything’s been leveled. There’s light to my left. Maybe an opening that way.
911 DISPATCHER 02910: (typing) Good. Can you call out? Shout for help?
BETTINA MORGAN: I never wanted to work here. My dad said the internship would look good on my résumé. You know my driver’s ed teacher turned out to be a carrier. He was a nice old guy, but they sent him to a camp. (sobbing) He was a grandpa. He kept pictures of his grandkids on the visor. I shouldn’t be here. I should never have—
911 DISPATCHER 02910: Bettina, I need you to calm down so that you can help me help you. Understand?
BETTINA MORGAN: This is my punishment. Don’t you see? We’re all being punished. . . .
SEVENTEEN
TABATHA IS RIGHT ABOUT THE VAN AT LEAST. WE don’t have to go very far. Thankfully. We all make it, even me, the caboose, holding my free hand out in case I fall, stumbling blindly over broken and uneven ground.
Once we’re inside the back of the van, Tabatha is good to her word and announces we can remove our blindfolds. The windows are blacked out, so we won’t be seeing much of anything besides one another’s faces, but still. I look around, almost as if I expect to see Caden somewhere in the van with us. As if that final glimpse, that taste, of him wasn’t the last.
I note the outline of a man behind the driver’s wheel, his shape shadowy and indistinct in the gloom of the van.
I turn back to the windows and strain my eyes as I stare at the painted glass, wondering about the direction of the compound. Then I wonder why it matters. I’ve left that place. Never to return. My future lies ahead.
We drive maybe an hour before the van stops. We don’t have to put the blindfolds on again before we’re urged from the van and herded through the brush into a small clearing. There’s a small fire pit, so I know they’ve used this spot as a camp before. In the not-so-far distance, I think I hear the gurgle of running water. I stand off to the side, listening as the van drives away, leaving us, feeling very alone even though I’m not.
The others mingle together, familiar with one another. I hadn’t spent any time at the compound with them. It didn’t seem important. Or necessarily wise. We’ll part ways soon enough after we cross. Maybe some of them are going to the same refuge as me. Maybe not. I don’t care either way. Can’t afford to. Caden’s face flashes across my mind like a blinding bright snapshot and I kill it, shove it back into the dark. My lips hum, and I resist the urge to brush my fingers there.
My chest feels hollow as I look out at the horizon. Morning tints the sky, edging the landscape in orange as several of the carriers find a place to sit. I stand. I sat long enough inside the van. A restlessness buzzes through my muscles. I can hear the river, just a faint murmur in the distance, and know we’re close. We’ll cross today. I’ll leave the country of my birth behind. My family. Regret pinches my heart. But then I left them behind months ago. The moment I tested positive for HTS. Even Mitchell. As much as I love him and he loves me, my brother is virtually as far from me as the moon.
My nerves stretch and thrum with tension. I glance around, feeling exposed and vulnerable out in the open like this. Despite the attack on my life, there was a measure of security within the compound. Out here, in the open, anyone could find us. Border Patrol. The Agency. Vigilante civilians. Or rogue carriers—which yes, seems to be a bit of an oxymoron in itself. Or even people from Mount Haven. If they’re still looking. The list of threats seems endless. And my life feels dark and hopeless with the possibilities swirling around in my head.
“You thought you were going to stay, didn’t you?” There’s a definite smirk to her voice.
I hadn’t even heard Tabatha approach. I turn and stare at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”
“Caden. You thought he wanted you to stay.”
I don’t bother letting her know that he asked me to more than once. She obviously has a thing for him, and me getting on her bad side—even more than I am—when I already have to rely on her to get me across the border is just all kinds of dumb.
So I play ignorant and kick at the dirt with the toe of my shoe. “I don’t know what you mean.”
