Kristen Simmons - Breaking Point

She plucked the bullet from my palm, holding it close to her body as she admired it. Again I considered how much larger it was than the standard rounds the resistance and the soldiers used.

“Why aren’t you at the safe house?” I asked, something inside telling me to tread carefully. “I thought you said Sisters could get through the highway lockdown.”

She turned her hips, still mesmerized by the cartridge. Her blue woolen skirt fanned from side to side.

“Looks like I was wrong.”

“I’m serious,” I said. “Sarah and that family with the baby needed a doctor. Did they get caught?”

Her tongue skimmed along the edge of her teeth. “Are you suggesting I jumped ship?”

My blood heated. “You didn’t exactly stick around to help when the motel was burning to the ground.”

She laughed, but it felt forced. “Self-preservation. Not all of us are martyrs.”

“If it was self-preservation, what were you doing talking to that soldier?” I pictured her standing before the flames, the man in uniform urging her to back up.

For a moment she seemed confused, and then shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe he was looking for a date.”

“Why can’t you just answer the question?”

She smiled coldly, eyes like blue crystals. “Look, the soldier at the fire thought I was a Sister, and asked me to help clear the area. As for Tubman, we made it to the roadblock and saw a sign that only FBR would be allowed past. I bailed before anyone saw me. But since you’re so concerned about your precious little party favor, relax. I hid off the side of the highway and watched Tubman drive that FBR truck straight through.”

I was relieved, but no less irritated. “Why do you have to cut her down like that?”

Her look turned to exasperation as she began to disrobe.

“Please. Did you see her? She had it coming. You can’t put wrapping paper on a present and expect no one to rip it off.”

“You’re blaming her?”

“I would if she wore that dress to a social.”

A social . That was what Sarah had called it, too, back in Tent City. A party for all the lonely soldiers who’d dedicated themselves to the cause.

I kept my arms pinned to my sides so I didn’t throttle her. Blaming Sarah for what others had done to her was like saying my mother deserved death because she’d broken a Statute. Like saying Billy’s mom had been right in selling her own son for cash.

She pulled off her Sisters of Salvation blouse, and as she slipped into a faded black sweatshirt, I caught sight of three parallel scars just below her collarbone—scars not unlike those I had given Tucker. She made a point of quickly hiding them, and despite myself, I suddenly found myself feeling sorry for her. Apparently she wasn’t made of steel. Someone, at some point, had been able to hurt her.

“Hey,” she said as I placed my hand on the door in preparation to leave. “Thank you. For what you’ve done.”

I turned back to face her, surprised by the smallness in her voice. It took a full beat to realize what she was talking about, and when I did I nearly groaned.

“Cara, Riggins was wrong. I’m not who he thought I was. I didn’t shoot anybody.”

“I know,” she said. But I wasn’t sure she believed me.

I had more important reasons to be on the defensive. I gathered my clothes and returned to the factory floor, and Tucker Morris.

WHENI emerged, Chase was leaning against the wall outside the door, arms crossed, scowling across the station at the Horizons truck. I smoothed down the sweatshirt and cuffed the ends of the pants four times before they finally reached my heels. I’d forgotten my arms were still smeared with dried blood and soot, and while I examined them he combed a tentative hand through my hair. Instinct had me leaning into his touch, but I frowned when he revealed a fistful of ash. I would have given my next meal for a shower.

“Billy’s checking the mainframe for new arrests,” he said, crossing his arms again as Tucker’s shadow appeared in the back of the truck.

“Has he found anything yet?” It seemed callous, but if Wallace hadn’t made it out of Knoxville, I hoped he’d gone down with the Wayland Inn. I knew what awaited him in the holding cells should he have been captured.

“Nothing new.” Chase hesitated. “Lincoln’s name was Anthony Sullivan. I never knew that.”

The room silenced. Sean looked up from where he stood with Marco and Polo outside a small storage room across from the truck. From the look on his face, he, too, was surprised. Some people went by nicknames so we couldn’t get too close, but Chase had just torn that down. He’d made Lincoln more human, his loss even more devastating.

The mood, already tense, turned somber fast.

Tucker, hopping down from the back of the truck, lifted two bottles of whiskey. “Might as well make the most of being stranded.”

No one objected.

Cara, who’d emerged from the bathroom behind me, said, “You boys got any cups?”

Marco disappeared into the storage room and returned with a tower of paper cups. Tucker popped the top on a bottle of whiskey and poured a liberal amount into each. While we formed a circle behind the truck, I contemplated how the one and only drink I’d ever had was when Beth and I had snuck some wine from my mother’s contraband supply in the ninth grade. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage a half cup of whiskey on a nearly empty stomach.

“Someone should say something,” mumbled Sean.

The others looked at Chase expectantly. Not Cara, who had known Lincoln longer, but Chase.

Wallace’s voice echoed through my head. “You had it, Jennings. You had it, and you threw it away.” I’d thought at the time he was just disappointed to lose a good soldier, but it was more than that. He’d seen Chase as a leader.

I sloshed the amber liquid around the cup. Wallace was right; Chase was good in times of crisis. All the time I’d spent fighting him after he’d rescued me from reform school seemed like wasted energy now.

As Chase raised his cup, I felt a wave of uncertainty. What were you supposed to say at funerals? We didn’t even know if Lincoln had family.

“To Lin—Anthony,” Chase said, clearing his throat. “He was a good soldier in… in the fights that mattered.”

This is the only fight that matters. The one we fight today.

“To anyone else stuck in that building, too,” he added. “Cats included.”

Billy gave a wet hiccup, his shoulders rounding. Cara wiped her eyes on her sleeve and leaned against Sean, who patted her shoulder, looking grim. Marco bowed his head, lips moving in a silent prayer.

The air within the printing plant grew heavy. Loss after loss surrounded us, so that the space seemed to thicken with their ghosts. We remembered our loved ones—those we weren’t strong enough to name. We remembered why we were fighting back.

I missed my mother so much it hurt.

My gaze found Tucker’s across the circle. His shoulders were heaving, like he’d just run a mile, and all I knew in that moment was that I didn’t want to know what he was thinking. Anticipating the taste with a cringe, I brought the cup to my lips.

“Wait,” said Tucker. “While we’re on it. To… to the people we… the person I…” His head rolled back and he looked up, of all places, for inspiration.

I lowered the cup. A clock from the office ticked by each second.

“Tucker,” Chase warned. “Don’t.”

My whole body tensed in anticipation. Tucker stole a quick breath and met my gaze.

“I’m sorry, Ember.”

The peace and power of the moment shattered, and I was horrified. How dare you . That was all I could think. How dare you .