Chapter 36
Before either of us can pepper him with questions, a sharp voice echoes from the rickety porch of the main cabin. “Get the hell over here, Jas.”
Footsteps thud down the porch steps. I see half a dozen people walking our way, a tall woman leading the pack.
“Wait here,” Jasper murmurs to us, then strides forward to meet the group halfway.
I watch as he and the woman share a quick embrace. She has dark hair arranged in dozens of tiny braids and looped around at the back of her head in a loose coil, and her eyes are suspicious, even as she leans in to give Jasper a kiss on the cheek.
“These are Faithful?” I ask Gray.
“Seems so.”
They certainly act like it, waves of suspicion rolling off them, as the woman quietly speaks with Jasper. We receive several dark looks from her companions before she stalks toward us.
“You’re the pilot?” she barks, addressing Gray. “Blake?”
“Indeed.”
She sizes him up with discerning eyes. “You took out an entire Command hangar.”
“Damn right.”
Her lips take on a hint of a smile. “Welcome to the Hollow. We don’t take kindly to visitors, especially strangers, but Jas says you can be trusted.” She nods toward us. “Who are your people?”
“Wren Darlington and Xavier Ford. My security.”
He omits the fact that Xavier is a former Command soldier, which is probably wise. Let Xavier annoy these people for a bit before they discover his identity. By that point, they’ll realize he’s not a threat but a sex-starved asshole who can’t shut up.
“Come,” Kitty tells us. “I’ll show you around.”
My mind is still reeling that there’s an entire secret community less than an hour away from the capital. How have they gone unnoticed?
It’s too dark for a proper tour, but Kitty points out the highlights.
The Hollow is completely self-sustaining and houses a shocking number of people.
Kitty says the population was more than four hundred at last count.
It has dozens of cabins, a dug well, solar power and a generator, even a septic system.
When I ask how long they’ve been here, she shocks me again by saying nearly two years.
It’s unusual for the Faithful to set up permanent camps.
They’re nomads, sometimes by choice, but most times because they’re trying to stay two steps ahead of the Command, abandoning camp at a moment’s notice if needed.
I realize Jasper has a lot to do with the fact that nobody knows of the existence of this place. He’s the only one who’s ever been here. And now us.
The voices in the distance get louder as we approach, and the smell of campfire smoke wafts in the air.
“You came on a good night,” Kitty admits, grinning slightly. “Celebration’s still going.”
Jasper slings his arm around her shoulder. “What are we celebrating?”
“We just had a baby,” she answers, which summons a wink from him.
“Well, shit. We did? How did that happen?”
“It’s Piper and Omar’s. But if you want a repeat of the last time you were here, Jas, all you have to do is ask.” Kitty rolls her eyes and keeps walking, and we hurry to match her brisk pace. “This is our gathering place,” she says when we emerge from the path to find a party in full swing.
There’s a large firepit enclosed by low stone walls, with people milling around it while others move through the large flat clearing that looks human-made rather than natural.
Trees have been cut down and cleared away, their stumps now serving as makeshift seating.
Chairs circle the fire, and blankets are spread out across the ground.
Boisterous laughter and loud voices rise over the live music courtesy of a small band featuring a guitarist, a guy with two handheld drums, and a young man playing the harmonica.
It’s rare to hear live music in the wards. We had a band that played in Hamlett sometimes, but they always performed Company-approved songs, and the same melodies get old after a while. This song, though, I’ve never heard before.
There are no uniforms. No military structure. Just people living in the moment, getting boozed and laughing and…ah…doing other things. It’s hard not to notice the various intimate moments playing out in the shadows.
“I want to say hi to Aurora,” Jasper says before sauntering off.
He looks right at home here, people greeting him as he walks, slapping his arm, his shoulders. He stops to chat with a small group, and a woman with curly dark hair flings her arms around him. I don’t miss the way Xavier’s eyes zero in on her ass in her tight jeans.
The three of us chat with Kitty, who studies Gray suspiciously. “So what’s the Uprising planning these days?”
He smiles at her. “Well, funny you should ask…Because we’d love to include you in our plans.”
She snorts. “We politely decline.”
“Come on, Kitty. Just hear us out.”
“I need a drink. I’ll give you five minutes to make your pitch before I pick my warm body for the night.”
“I volunteer to be the warm body,” Xavier calls as they walk away.
“I’ll think about it,” is Kitty’s sultry response.
I can’t lie—the atmosphere here is sort of intoxicating. There are clearly no rules. No expectations. All around me are bodies, pressed close together, limbs tangled, faces flushed. The air feels charged, delirious, reckless.
Xavier leans closer to me. “I’m pretty sure that woman over there is sucking that guy’s—”
“Yes, well aware,” I cut in, then grab his chin and forcibly twist his head so he’s not staring at them. The couple is shrouded in the shadows, sprawled on a plaid-patterned blanket, the man’s hands tangled in the woman’s long hair.
“Can I move here?” he begs. “Please?”
Jasper comes back into view, juggling three tin cups in his hands. As he pauses to greet a pair of young men, the charisma drips off him. He seems to effortlessly draw people into his orbit.
“There’s your best friend,” I say.
Xavier grins. “Jealous?”
“No, I just don’t get it. You two are like old friends and you’ve known each other for like five seconds.”
“It’s called being charming, Darlington. It’s a useful skill. You should try it sometime.”
“I’m charming.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a sarcastic bitch.”
“Who’s a sarcastic bitch?” Jasper asks, reaching us in time to hear that.
Xavier jerks a thumb at me. “This one. She’s jealous that we’ve become best friends.”
Laughing, Jasper hands each of us a cup. I peer at the pinkish liquid. It smells like grange, but grange is usually the color of amber, not bruised apricot.
“What’s this?” I say warily.
“Grange,” Jasper confirms. “We make it here ourselves.”
“ ‘We,’ huh?” Xavier takes a swig of his drink. “The files we compiled on you never said you considered yourself a Faithful.”
“I don’t consider myself anything,” the man responds. Then he winks. “Other than handsome and irresistible, of course.”
Sipping my drink, I tune them out as they chat and joke with each other. Or maybe they’re flirting. I can’t tell because their personalities are naturally flirtatious. I tune back in when I hear a familiar name.
“Travis Redden plays it fast and loose with his inner circle,” Jasper is saying. “I hear he spends a lot of time with the capitalists.”
I remember Cross voicing concerns about that. He told me Travis is close with one of the wealthiest capitalists in the city, Wexton Jones. Jones’s son, Noah, made it into Silver Elite with us but was killed during the bombing that Gray helped orchestrate when he was masquerading as Kaine Sutler.
“I met him once,” Jasper says. “He’s ambitious, and he’s been kissing Jones’s ass for years now. Redden’s always recognized how useful the elites can be.”
“Useful how?” I ask.
“The elites like Wexton Jones wield a lot of influence. There’s value in having them in positions of power, especially if Redden is looking to expand his territory, say, to Tierra Fe. He’ll need to set people up there. People like Jones. General Jones sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
“No more politics talk,” Xavier complains. “It’s so boring. I’ve been dealing with boring for months now. I need excitement.”
Jasper chuckles. “Come, then. I have something for that.”
We follow him down another path that forks at the end. He veers to the left, and soon we’re coming upon another cabin tucked in the woods.
“This one’s mine,” he says.
I raise a brow. “You have your own cabin?”
“I spend most of my time here.”
“I thought you lived in the Point,” Xavier says.
“Sometimes. But the Hollow’s a lot more fun.
The people here, they don’t have sticks up their asses like the ones in the wards.
Everyone there is so busy following their regimented little Company routines.
They’re not out all night, swapping stories.
Dancing. Screwing. Nobody has time for that in the Point. ”
Xavier smirks at him. “I had plenty of time for screwing in the Command.”
Jasper smirks back. “Trust me, Lieutenant, you haven’t experienced a good lay until you spend a night in a Faithful camp.”
He hits a switch, and a warm glow fills the cabin, revealing a single bedroom with a doorway across the room that leads into a lav.
An old cherrywood cabinet sits against the wall, and I guess it’s locked, because Jasper pulls a key out of a little crack in the log wall.
An actual key that he sticks into the lock to twist open.
I can’t remember the last time I saw a lock that required a key and not a scan.
“This,” he says, “is where I keep all the really good stuff.”
The cabinet contains an array of vials and bottles, and several rows of long, narrow drawers. He opens a drawer and pulls out a bundle of gray cloth held together by a piece of brown twine. As he unwraps it, an acrid, bitter scent instantly fills my nostrils.
Xavier’s entire face lights up. “Is that seraphis?”
The other man grins. “Knew you’d like that.”
“Oh shit.” Xavier swivels his head toward me, pleading with his eyes. “Can we?”
“You can. I hate that stuff.”
Jasper gives me a faint smile. “That’s a shame, considering you just ingested an entire cup of it.”