The Thrust Page 10

  She grinned and snuggled against him. “First things first. We need to take care of our mission at Grand Central.”

  Or there might not be a future to write about.

  Grand Central Terminal

  EVAN

  The following morning, Evan woke before anyone else and tore the sheets off his cot, throwing them in the hamper so no one would see the drops of blood and semen.

  If not for his still-aching body, he’d be able to pretend it had just been a nightmare. But it had been real. After all his threats, Scar had finally done it.

  What could he do? Who could he tell?

  Evan didn’t want Annie to know. But she knew him so well, she’d see it on his face the moment she saw him at morning rations.

  Fuck.

  FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

  This was the Colonel’s fault. He’d promised him he’d be safe. Promised.

  Evan wiped at his eyes angrily, forcing the tears back. He’d already cried enough to last a lifetime.

  One of the soldiers who’d slept near his bunk came up to him as he was remaking his cot.

  “Hey, man,” he said. “You’re new, right? I’m Hernandez.”

  Hernandez stuck his hand out, and Evan eyed it warily before shaking it.

  “We don’t have to change the sheets every day,” Hernandez said.

  “Okay,” Evan said, keeping his eyes on the new sheets.

  “Are you . . .” Hernandez lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”

  Evan’s face felt hot, flushed. It was happening already. Now everyone would know.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Evan asked tightly.

  “I’m kind of a light sleeper,” Hernandez said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Listen, man,” Hernandez shook his head. “I won’t say anything. I just . . . Scar’s not supposed to be in our bunk. He sleeps with the other higher-ups.”

  “Please, just forget it,” Evan whispered.

  “I feel like an asshole,” Hernandez said, not looking at Evan. “I should have done something.”

  “What could you have done?” Evan asked. “Pulled him off of me? Beat the shit out of him? And then gotten punished. We’d both end up getting caned by the big clock in front of everyone.”

  “That’s just for the citizens,” Hernandez said. “Colonel Lanche punishes soldiers in private, so we can maintain some semblance of authority. Scar scares the shit out of me. Out of all of us.” He sighed. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  Evan looked at Hernandez, finally. He expected to see pity on his face—the last thing he wanted to see. Instead, he saw his own anger reflected back at him.

  Hernandez was furious.

  Evan tried to put himself in the shoes of the men who’d pretended to sleep around him while he was getting raped. Tried to imagine how Hernandez had lain there, wondering what to do. Wondering if he should say something. Wondering what would happen to him if he did.

  And by then, it would have been over, and Scar had left as quickly as he came.

  “It shouldn’t be like this,” Evan said. “This happens every night on the Tracks, you know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  “Do you go to the Tracks?” Evan asked. He hadn’t seen him down there when he was staying with Annie.

  Hernandez nodded. “I don’t mess with anyone. I have a . . . I have a girlfriend. I love Marisol. I only visit her.” He sighed. “Same with a lot of the guys here, they’re not so bad. They go to the Tracks, yeah, but they have girlfriends. They’re not like some of those other assholes who go around banging anyone walking the yellow line with her shirt pulled up.”

  Evan picked up his rifle and put it over his chest, wincing as a bolt of pain ripped through him when he moved the wrong way.

  “Listen,” Hernandez said. “I won’t say anything. I swear. I just wanted to see if you were okay. And tell you I’m sorry. I feel horrible that I didn’t do anything.”

  “If it happens again, will you do something then?” Evan asked.

  “After he left, I kept thinking about that,” Hernandez admitted. “About how if I did something, I’d get in trouble.”

  “I know.”

  “And then I thought, you know—I didn’t hear you say no, I didn’t hear him hit you or anything, so I thought maybe I was wrong, maybe I misinterpreted.” He shook his head. “Sorry. I mean, not in a bad way. I’ve got nothing against gay people.”

  “You didn’t misinterpret. I was attacked.”

  “If it happens again, I’ll come up behind him so he can’t see me, and I’ll hit him in the head with my rifle so hard he’ll have fucking brain damage.”

  Evan smiled, his first smile in a long time. “Why? Why would you risk doing that, for me?”

  “Because it’s not right,” Hernandez said. “And that asswipe raped Marisol.”

  Whoa. “I’m sorry.”

  “If it’s dark, I can say I thought an intruder, a civilian maybe, was coming to steal one of our guns. Only when the lights came on did I realize it was an authority.” Hernandez said the words carefully, as if he was already practicing for when the time came.

  “You’d still get in trouble,” Evan said.

  “I’ve been up all night, ever since he came in. Thinking about it. Blaming myself for not doing anything. A lot of bad shit happens here, and I’m so fucking sick of it.”

  The bell rang for morning rations. Evan smiled, ignoring the pain in his body.

  Because he had just found someone who would be on their side, when the time came to fight.

  Thank God there was at least one soldier who would fight with them, instead of against them.

  Forty-Seventh Street Entrance to Grand Central

  CLARISSA

  It was almost time for morning rations. Clarissa’s upper lip perspired, her hands shaking with adrenaline.

  “Let’s do this,” Trent said. He looked every bit the soldier—though after their experience last night, it didn’t bother her as much as it had before. Hopefully he’d blend in.

  The entrance at Forty-Seventh Street was covered by construction scaffolding, old plywood, and boarded-up doors.

  “Jenna said these were glass doors,” Clarissa whispered, even though no one was around to hear them.

  “Hang on.” Trent pulled his pack off and grabbed a crowbar out of it, which they’d brought knowing they’d have to break in. He’d also brought a handsaw, and a hammer. They were prepared for anything.

  Almost anything.

  Trent pried the wood off a section of the door.

  “Should I break the glass?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Yeah. It’s noisy enough in there, with all the people. Hopefully no one will hear it. We should be far enough away, anyway.”

  It took several tries, because the glass was strong. But soon they had an entrance.

  Clarissa took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Trent climbed through first, and held out his hand to guide her past the shards of glass.

  “Someone might notice the hole,” Clarissa said.

  Trent pushed some rubble in front of it, effectively hiding it. It blended in with the rest of the mess. Rats scurried around them along the walls at the movement.

  Without any lighting, it was impossible to tell which way to go. Where was the passageway that would take them through the inside of the mammoth train station to the Forty-Fifth Street passage? That was how they could get to the lower levels.

  Trent took a candle out of his pack, lighting it with a match.

  “You still have candles and matches, after all this time?” Clarissa whispered incredulously. She’d used up her own paltry supply within weeks of the Pulse.

  “It’s a new candle, made from beeswax. And the matches, yeah. I used to collect them, and since I always start my fires at home with flint I’ve been able to save them for emergencies.”

  Clarissa had never been so happy to hear about someone’s match co
llection. But the meager light from the candle was only a small comfort in the overwhelming darkness.

  “This way,” Trent said, and she followed.

  Once they got going, it wasn’t too hard to follow the passage underneath the camp. It took about fifteen minutes of walking, but finally they reached a staircase, blocked only by . . . construction tape.

  DO NOT ENTER. CONSTRUCTION ZONE.

  Clarissa looked at Trent and they shared a moment of happy surprise. Would it really be this easy? Or was it a trap?

  They ducked under the yellow tape and walked along the passageway until they heard voices. Lots of voices, coming from above them.

  Goose bumps rose along her flesh. What would happen if they were caught?

  And then, a door. Trent put his ear to it. “I don’t hear anything.”

  She wanted to beg him not to open it, but they couldn’t stand in the dark forever. He blew out the candle and placed it back in his pack, setting the bag on the floor near the door.

  “We’ll have to try and come back this way, to get it.” Trent straightened his uniform and took her hand. “Come on.”

  The door opened when he pushed it. For some reason she’d imagined it would be locked, but no. It was open.

  They were at the entrance to one of the Tracks, which one she couldn’t be sure. No one was there—they were all in the food court for morning rations.

  Clarissa recalled the gnawing hunger she always felt while living at Grand Central. The food—and calling it food was being kind to it—consisted of a mug of water, bread extended with sawdust, and stew. Always stew. Rumor was they used rat meat along with pieces of vegetables from the highly-guarded farm at Central Park. Still, the produce was barely enough to feed the twenty thousand or more people who lived at the camp.

  Each meal merely took the edge off the hunger. It was not surprising that those who could did whatever they needed to in order to get more. She’d slept with way too many soldiers just for an extra cup of that nasty stew. Sometimes she’d get a shot of homemade alcohol, the kind that burned going down and made everything fuzzy.

  The memories poured through her as they walked briskly past the open train cars. Clarissa peered in, seeing that yes, this was where some of the women slept. She could tell by the dirty mattresses, by the clothes hanging to dry.

  “Let’s start spreading these out,” she whispered.

  They each grabbed their pamphlets, tossing one into each open car, until they got to the end.

  “Next track,” she whispered.

  “I have to find Annie,” he said.

  “We will. But let’s distribute these as we go. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  They flew along the tracks, going from train to train, trying to get the papers into as many of the women’s sleeping quarters as they could.

  “This is it,” Clarissa said, when they reached the place where she used to stay with Annie. But Annie wasn’t there.

  “Where is she?” Panic crept into Trent’s voice.

  “This could be a good sign,” she said. “If her leg is getting better then she’s probably getting her own morning ration.”

  “Where do the soldiers sleep?” Trent asked. “We need them to see the pamphlets as well.”

  “Too risky,” she argued.

  “I’ll go by myself.”

  Also too risky. And she couldn’t risk losing Trent. Not now. Not when they were so close.

  “If you’re seen, you’ll be expected to be doing something. Working. And no one has ever had the job of leafleting the place before.” She tried to laugh, but it stuck in her throat.

  “We could wait for Annie,” Trent said. “She’ll be back soon, right? And she’ll know what to do about letting the soldiers know.”

  “The soldiers will know, as soon as the women do,” Clarissa said. “No one will want to risk keeping this a secret. The word will spread. By evening rations if not sooner, Colonel Lanche will be making a speech about it.”

  “Good,” Trent said. “Then everyone will know.”

  “We should escape now, before they come back.”

  “I’m not leaving without Annie,” Trent said. “I can’t. She’s so close! How can I go back to Letliv when she’s so close?”

  She understood his frustration. She felt the same way. But they were going to get themselves killed.

  Fuck.

  “Fine,” she said. “We wait. But if we’re caught waiting in Annie’s car, she’s going to be in trouble just by association.”

  “Then we hide,” Trent said. “If we get caught, we were just looking for some privacy.”

  “That could work.”

  Women were starting to come down to the Tracks from morning rations. It would be very busy soon, with hundreds of women on this track alone all milling about.

  Clarissa didn’t know where to hide other than in a train car.

  “I guess we’ll have to be in here,” she said, gesturing to her and Annie’s place.

  The Tracks were always dark. In there, it was always night, lit only by garbage fires.

  Clarissa led Trent to the corner of the car, and they sank to the ground. Trent wrapped his arms around her, whether to back up their claim that they were there for privacy or because he knew she needed the comfort of his strong arms, she didn’t know.

  And then Annie walked in.

  Walked!

  She had a makeshift cane, and a limp, but she was walking on her mending leg. Clarissa felt so deliriously happy she wanted to jump up and give her a hug, but she didn’t want to give them away.

  Annie sat down on the orange seats and put her leg up, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Shhh,” Clarissa whispered. “It’s Clarissa.”

  Annie froze, her eyes wide. She stared at the two of them huddled in the corner, and Clarissa feared she would start screaming.

  “I’m in disguise,” Clarissa said. She stood up slowly, gesturing for Trent to stay down, and went up to Annie.

  “Clarissa? Is that really you?” Annie reached out and pushed the brown hair out of Clarissa’s face, and smiled. “Oh my God, you came back!” She lowered her voice, nodding toward the man in the shadows. “Why is there a soldier with you?”

  “You have to be really quiet,” Clarissa reminded her. “That’s Trent. He’s only dressed as a soldier.”

  Annie stood carefully and peered at the soldier sitting on the floor of her train car. “Oh my God. Trent.”

  She went to him, sitting carefully next to him, ever mindful of her recently healed leg, and threw her arms around him.

  “I was worried you were dead,” she sobbed.

  “Me too,” he said, squeezing her close. “Karen . . . Karen died.”

  “I’m so sorry, Trent.” Annie’s eyes filled with tears, and she hugged him again. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She looked at Clarissa. “Where’s Barker? Jenna? Evan knew you guys would be back.”

  “It’s just us right now,” Clarissa said. She pulled the rest of the pamphlets out of her shirt and hid them under the mattress. “Where’s Evan?”

  “What do you mean it’s just you? Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine. They’ll be here, just not yet. We . . . we could only fit a few people at a time in the old Chevy we have. We wanted to get here as fast as possible.”

  Annie frowned. “This is risky, but if you need a way to get people here . . . I happen to know of a truck.”

  A truck! That would be perfect—the more vehicles they had the better.

  “Lanche told us that the United Nations came with supplies,” Annie continued.

  Trent inhaled sharply, and Clarissa took his hand.

  “He gave us multivitamins. It’s probably the only reason my leg is healing up now. But Lanche told us he killed the UN ambassadors.” Annie shook her head. “I think—almost positive—that they brought a truck with supplies. That truck’s probably nearby. Maybe hidden, if they were worried about more soldiers from the UN coming and finding o
ut. I don’t know.”

  “We’ll find that truck,” Trent said. “I can drive it back, if you drive the Chevy, Clarissa.”

  Clarissa nodded in agreement. “What about Evan?”

  Annie looked at them. “He became a soldier.”

  What? How? Her face must have betrayed her confusion, because Annie was quick to reassure her.

  “It’s not for real. He faked them out,” she whispered. “So that he could be your man on the inside. He knew you’d be back.”

  “That’s perfect,” Trent said. “He needs to get the rest of these pamphlets to the soldiers. Will he come here? To see you?”

  Annie nodded. “Usually, he does. If he can. But he . . . He avoided me this morning.”

  Trent frowned, but Clarissa’s stomach knotted. “Has Colonel Lanche hurt him?” she asked. But she already knew the answer.

  “Yes,” Annie said simply. “Lanche and Scar. Evan wouldn’t tell them anything about you guys, not until he was sure anything he knew was old enough to be useless. Once he told them, they started treating him right. Made him a soldier.”

  “And before he told them?” Clarissa asked.

  Annie shook her head. Visions of Evan, sweet, young Evan, not even out of high school when the Pulse hit, swept through Clarissa’s mind. She could only imagine what they’d done to him.

  She didn’t want to imagine.

  “Who is Scar?” Trent asked.

  “One of Lanche’s men. Not sure of his title, but there are a few men that the Colonel trusts, and Scar is one. Dobson is another. And there are three others, I don’t know their names. They guard the OCC.”

  Trent nodded and repeated the names to himself, as if memorizing them. Clarissa realized he probably was. Gathering intel, figuring out the best way to hit the camp hard. Where it hurt.

  Annie picked up the pamphlet and read it quickly. “This is good,” she said. “People are going to be talking about this. But you can’t be here when they start—you two need to get out of here. Look around the back by the food court for that truck.”

  Clarissa wanted to see Evan before they left, but how? He wasn’t there. They couldn’t march into the soldiers’ quarters like Trent wanted to and grab him back.