In the Afterlight - Bracken Alexandra (онлайн книги бесплатно полные TXT) 📗

“You remember Mike,” Liam said, gesturing to the kid in the Cubs baseball hat. He was thinner than I remembered—a good ten pounds lighter from stress and the strain of the road, likely—but I knew him by the wary look he cast in my direction. The kid gave me a stiff nod, then turned to accept a bear hug from Lucy.

Cole let out a faint whistle at that. “Not a fan of yours, I take it.”

“The feeling is mutual,” I assured him. Mike hadn’t liked me or trusted me, and had never really wanted to take the blindfold off his eyes about Clancy.

“That’s Ollie and Gonzo over there, they’re brothers,” Liam continued, pointing to the two teens standing off to the side. One—Gonzo, I think—had his hand on a makeshift knife made out of a glass shard, a stick, and fabric. “They were on watch with me. You guys hungry? I think dinner should just about be ready....”

I caught his arm before he led the group away. “You can’t tell them about Clancy.”

“I already did,” he told me in a thin voice. “And they don’t care as long as he stays locked up.”

“If they try to find him—”

“They won’t,” Liam said, pulling his arm away. “They’re not here for him.”

I wanted to ask him what, exactly, he meant by that, but he was already gone, jogging to catch up to the others. Zu, who’d been idling nearby in the hall, had come to stand beside me, looking up at me in question.

“I’ll tell you later,” I promised her. Because we didn’t have time. I didn’t have time to think about Liam, let alone constantly seek him out in the garage where he kept to himself.

The morning after the Greens perfected the cameras embedded in the glasses, two and a half weeks before March first, Kylie and drove Tommy and Pat out of California. They wound their way down surface streets and access roads until they reached Elko, Nevada, the closest town to Oasis that was more than a few houses baking in the desert sun. The boys spent the next few days hanging out at the fringes of town, appearing, disappearing, causing just enough suspicion for some money-hungry soul to call them in for a reward. There was a close call, during which it seemed like the PSFs who collected them were going to take them out of state, up to the camp in Wyoming, but they changed course at the last moment.

Their glasses captured everything. We had a front row seat as the kids were driven up through the desert, as they were processed into Oasis, as they walked through the hallways with their many doors, as they were brought into their rooms, as the PSFs roughed them up a little to show off, slapping Tommy hard enough to knock the glasses off his face. We charted meal times, lights out, rotations, and compared the personnel lists on the PSF network to the faces we saw.

After one day, we’d already seen the entirety of the premises. The camp was a two-story building, shrouded from outside eyes by a tall electric fence and canopied tarps, both to keep out the sun and to block any views of the yard from above.

We knew that the weekly supplies came at four-thirty every Friday morning. The loud engines and tires chewing gravel and dirt announced their arrival.

“The batteries in the cameras will run out soon,” Nico warned.

“Is everything saved and downloaded somewhere?” Liam asked, standing behind him, next to a clearly impressed Senator Cruz.

Nico turned around in his chair. “Yeah, but why?”

Liam glanced toward the floor. “In case we need to refer back to it when we figure out planning and timing.”

“There’s nothing left to do, then,” Cole said, “but practice. And wait.”

Four days of waiting.

Four days of basic self-defense training.

Four days of reminding the kids to keep the safety catch on the guns until they were ready to fire, to brace themselves when they needed to, and to use their abilities before they’d think about firing.

And now, day three of the run-through. The first day had been simple enough—most of the kids in this group, the East River kids at least, had experienced overpowering a large truck in a highway setting. They’d had to do it any number of times to steal supplies and food. The trick was reminding them repeatedly that they couldn’t destroy the truck in the process.

I adjusted the strap on my tactical helmet, tightening until I felt it dig into the soft skin beneath my jaw as I crouched down, breathing in the clean, cool February air. It was my first time outside in what felt like a month, and we’d only been allowed to position ourselves outside of the garage’s loading dock door.

It had taken us nearly half a day to clear out space in the garage, temporarily moving the cars, Liam’s bike, and the bigger pieces of furniture and crates outside. I saw him lean back, as if checking to make sure they were all still on the other side of the building where we’d left them. I’d had a hard time putting a finger on his mood today. It seemed to shift by the minute.

The kids behind me were a cluster of disordered black fatigues. Each piece had been found, collected, and pulled by Liam and others running the supplies specifically because they were close to the fatigues worn by the PSFs. The look was pulled together with the assault rifles in their hands. Everyone had spent hours of the last three days in the makeshift shooting range we’d set up. The rapid firing of the bullets had steeled my nerves more than I’d expected; lacing up black combat boots, adjusting holsters and utility belts, had made me feel like I was stepping back into a shell I’d abandoned when I’d split with the League. It was a good fit—steadying, at least. I felt my feet fixed firmly to the ground with the added weight of the necessities of combat.

Liam put a hand on my shoulder to steady himself as he adjusted the strap on his rifle, and for the tenth time today I felt my chest tighten, my hands clench around my own gun. To think I’d believed being in the Children’s League would destroy him, ruin every good part of him. The only person dragging him into this firefight was me.

“Begin!”

We came at the door in a rush of overeager energy, pouring through the opening. I felt the lick of adrenaline against my heart, counting off the timing in my head. The two Blues in front of me, Josh and Sarah, raised their rifle sights to their eyes and stepped into the makeshift hallway we’d constructed out of pallets, simulating the layout of the lower-level hall we’d seen. They swept their hands out toward Zu and Hina, who were pretending to be the PSFs posted at either end of the hall standing guard, and the girls made a dramatic show of pretending they were thrown back. Liam actually laughed behind me, which set my teeth on edge.

“Stop!” Cole called from his perch atop one of the ladders. “Girls! You have to take this seriously, otherwise I’m subbing you out. There’s not enough time for us to be dicking around, not when it could mean this team not getting their timing down. Got it?”

Zu and Hina wilted at his sharp words, but nodded.

“Go from the top,” Cole said. “Everyone reset—but this time, Liam, switch places with Zach—yeah, you’ll be behind Ruby. Lucy, hop out—you too, Mila. Sorry, ladies. You’re not right for this Op. I want Gonzo and Ollie to take their place.”

Liam opened his mouth but caught himself. I gave him a quick nod, letting him know it was all right. Cole had been making these switches and substitutions for the past two days, trying to get the best chemistry in the group. We were getting there, but the birthing process had been painful and I was feeling each day passing like a strike to the back of the head.

I would have given anything for Vida to be here next to me. I checked in with Nico every single day to see if he’d gotten another status update from them, but the last contact they’d made had been to let us know they had safely arrived in Kansas.

“Begin!” And the dance started all over again.