Kristen Simmons - Breaking Point

Someone laughed. It was contagious, and soon the others were nodding and smiling as though they’d never intended to harm us. I could hardly believe it. Was it really so easy to evade the truth? To be someone else?

“I like it,” said a guy wearing a cockeyed knit cap. “A patriot if you ask me.”

The adrenaline was humming through me. I had no idea what would come next, but at least I’d stopped them from killing us.

As the copper cartridge was passed around the whispering crowd, Chase and I locked eyes. His betrayed nothing, though I knew he feared what I had done, and what would happen when Chicago realized my lie. Would it just be a fight then? Or would Chicago skip the beating and eliminate the problem?

“Who do you work for?” Mags asked. “Let’s just say you are the sniper. No one could have gotten half those hits without some protection.”

I stiffened. Tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

“Everyone reports to someone,” she said, testing me.

I closed my eyes, and tried to remember what Sean had told me at the Wayland Inn, how Marco and Polo had only added to the mystery.

“Everyone reports to Three,” I answered, immediately regretting my words. How far did Three’s power extend? How much trouble would I stir for dropping their name?

Before me, Mags had stopped her pace. Her brows had lifted. I prayed that she didn’t ask anything more direct.

“Indeed,” she said. “I’ve heard rumors that something big’s about to go down. Is that why you’re here?”

I wanted to ask what she’d heard—was Three planning some kind of revolution?—but I couldn’t break from the story now.

“Our friend was sent to rehab,” I said. “We need to find her.”

Everyone had gone very quiet. They were watching Mags, who wore authority just as she wore those battle-beaten boots.

“Rehab… you mean the circus?”

I glanced at Tucker, who appeared just as clueless as the rest of us. This was not a term soldiers used.

“Find her and what?” Mags added. “Extract her? Waste of time.”

A vein on Sean’s forehead bulged. “Hold on—”

“It’s our time to waste, ma’am,” Chase interjected. He moved beside me. “But we’d waste less of it with your help.”

I held my breath as Mags’s eyes traveled over the four of us. A frown pulled at the corners of her small mouth, but she regarded us with less suspicion now. When she spoke, her tone was flat.

“We have a plant inside at the base who can get an updated roster for the circus. You’ll brief me tonight at eighteen hundred ”—she articulated the words so there would be no confusion—“with a full report of your plans before you make a move up top. You may have immunity according to Three, but this is still my territory. Not one trigger pulled without my go-ahead. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Chase.

She turned to her people. “I don’t want to hear about anyone roughing them up.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Thank you, ” answered Mags. “For your service to the cause.” She fixed my collar, and I fought the urge to jerk back. “But just so you know, I have zero tolerance for vigilantes and cocky hotshots who can’t follow orders.” My gaze turned down from her harsh stare, and I felt her smile, twice as cool as Cara’s.

“Got it,” I said.

“Good. Now clean that blood off your face and get some sleep.” She smirked as she walked away. “You people look like hell.”

AFTERgathering our belongings at the car, we followed Jack around the dunes toward the airfield. Chase was beginning to stumble. The adrenaline was wearing off and I worried protectively that these new people would see him weakened and attempt another attack. I didn’t trust Mags’s peace decree; their actions would have to prove it.

The other soldiers pestered me with questions. Most of them I deflected like Cara had done, and in response, Tucker had taken to filling in the blanks. I’d never seen someone so pleased to be the accomplice of a serial killer. How much he seemed to know about the sniper murders was just starting to worry me when Chase leaned down and whispered, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

I watched the others. No one seemed to have heard.

“What do you think?” I said. “I’m getting us in.”

“That’s when we decided on the roof across the City Square. It was a clear shot to the draft tables.” Tucker was just behind us, surrounded by fighters Mags hadn’t detailed to surveillance. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“They’re eating this up,” I said. Chase nodded.

Toothless, the bat back over his shoulder, jogged to catch up with us.

“I saw you fight a couple times before they kicked me out. Always thought I could take you, but you’re meaner than you look, Jennings.” He stuck out his hand, and when Chase reluctantly offered his own, Toothless shook it enthusiastically.

“Truck,” he said. “’Cause I drive the truck.”

Chase closed his eyes momentarily, looking utterly disappointed.

“ You’re the carrier?” I asked.

“You’ve heard of me!” He looked delighted. “Jack, she’s heard of me.”

“That’s real sweet, Truck,” said Jack from the front of the line. I glared at him.

“We have a mutual… friend,” I settled on, though that didn’t seem right. There was no way Beth could have trusted this person, even if she was naïve. Though now that the fight was over he did seem surprisingly benign.

I could almost hear Chase’s teeth grinding. The plan was to get Rebecca and go to the safe house, but Chase wasn’t about to put our lives in the hands of a carrier who took nothing—not even a punch to the face—seriously.

“So wow,” said Truck in awe, standing a little too close to me for comfort. “You and Jennings really did break out of the base. Nice.”

I almost laughed. He’d chosen the one accusation that was actually true.

“I suppose you had a little help from Three…?” he asked. I forced a smile, and this was answer enough for him. Beside me, Chase’s jaw twitched.

“This contact that’s checking on our friend,” I said. “Would he be able to check on someone else, too?”

Truck shrugged. “Don’t see why not.”

“His name is Billy. Or… William,” I said, suddenly unsure. I realized I didn’t even know his last name. “He disappeared in Greeneville yesterday, at the checkpoint, about the time the girl was shot there.” I stumbled over the last part.

Truck scratched a hand over his clipped, flaxen hair. “I didn’t hear anything about a raid on a checkpoint. I’ll ask around though.”

Some of the tense muscles behind my neck eased. Marco and Polo could have taken Billy somewhere. He might still be safe. “Thanks.”

“Anything for Three,” he said with a wink. Chase coughed into his hand.

“Whoa,” Sean interrupted. “Look at that.”

It was a plane—at least, what was left of one. The big jumbo jet balanced precariously on one broken wing while the other reached into the sky like the arm of a dying man. The tail end was missing completely, but the hull was still largely in one piece. Its smooth, silver metal was tarnished by black burn smudges. It filled me with both awe and a kind of sad nostalgia. There was so little left from the time before.

“Strange that there’s only one,” Chase said.

I scanned the debris-covered field, but he was right. This was the only plane. If the airport had been attacked during the War surely more of them should have found their graves here.

I didn’t consider it further. At that moment we turned toward a mausoleum-like hole in one particularly large pile of rubble. Three armed guards hunkered nearby. They’d been expecting us, based on their lack of affect.