Chapter 21
I’ll say one good thing about Chase catching up to us, sneaking into East Jersey, sacrificing an antidote before tagging along on our escape: with Chase here, I haven’t had a single nightmare.
My body has finally gotten used to the short hours.
I wake up earlier than I have to because, if I don’t, there’s a chance one of the boys will leave me sleeping.
It goes back to them treating me differently.
It pisses me off to no end that I’m the one thing Maverick and Chase conspire on.
If I don’t insist on it, I’ll completely miss my turn at the watch.
That’s the first thought I have when I wake up tonight. It’s so sudden, that hint of urgency making me go from sound asleep to wide awake in an instant. I wonder if my body can tell that I overslept, but as the hazy visions in my head slip away, I realize it’s something else.
I didn’t have a nightmare.
I had a dream.
And it was all about…
Chase.
I turn my head. Like usual, he’s lying as close to me as he dares to. The first morning I woke up to find him there, I was pissed, but I’m used to it now. In a way, I kind of like having him so near. When he’s asleep, he’s unable to weigh me down with the weight of his expectations.
When he’s asleep, I can watch him.
I must have slept through the first watch change.
Shielding my eyes against the low light of our fire, I see Maverick hunched across the way, polishing his gun with his sleeve.
Chase is curled up in a ball, turned my way, forever facing me as he sleeps.
It’s like he wants me to be the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes, and if that thought doesn’t make me uneasy, I don’t know what does.
Does that mean I don’t take a few seconds to watch him myself? Not even a little.
I’m checking that he’s actually fast asleep; at least, that’s the lie I tell myself. His eyelashes flutter gently. A soft snore comes through his slightly parted lips. His hand is outstretched toward me, and I can see the lingering mark on his wrist from the handcuff bracelet we’re still wearing.
I have one, too. I lift the cuff, rub my skin absently, then slowly shimmy out from the sleeping bag.
Careful not to wake him, I pick up the extra fleece blanket we snagged from one of the houses we scavenged. A quick shake before I let it settle over him. He deserves some warmth, and if this is the only way I can give it to him, I’ll do it.
Chase’s lips are pulled down in a way that makes my heart hurt. If his dreams are anything like mine, I bet I know why he’s frowning. A lock of his sandy hair has fallen forward, resting over his shut eye.
The sudden and inexplicable urge to brush that stray stand away from his furrowed brow comes over me.
It’s all I can do to resist it. I like to think it’s because of the dream that I haven’t broken free of yet, but the fact that I had such a dream—laughing with Chase, smiling with Chase, talking about a future we’ll never share with Chase—at all tells me more about my subconscious then I care to admit.
“You like him.”
I give a small start. Maverick’s deep voice is a sorrow-filled lilt that drifts over to me on the muggy night air. For a moment there, I think I forgot he was so close.
How long was Maverick watching me watch Chase?
I don’t think I want to know.
My cheeks heat up. I hope that he can’t tell from this far away.
“I don’t,” I argue pointlessly. It’s just a reflex at this point. I have to say it even if we both know I’m lying. And maybe that’s why I feel compelled to blurt out: “He was going to marry my sister, you know.”
“Hallie?”
“Yes.”
Maverick pauses and, by the light of the flickering flames, his eyes seem like they’re sparkling all of a sudden. “You remember?”
I glance down at Chase. “How can I forget?” I mutter.
He’s breathing softly, in and out, and I can’t remember the last time he was so content. So at peace. It had to be when Hallie was still around.
I close my eyes and give my head a little shake. “Every time I look at him, I remember.”
When I open my eyes again, it’s to find that I’ve shifted away from Chase, turning toward the fire. Maverick is watching me curiously, his gun settled nicely in his lap. My fingers itch to grab it. Unaware that I’m coveting his weapon, the cop nods at the place opposite him, right across the fire.
He doesn’t have to say it out loud. The invitation is clear.
I take the seat, grateful to have an excuse to move just a little further away from Chase. Ever since that forced moment of intimacy in East Jersey, the temptations are starting to edge up on me. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to fight them down.
Worse, I don’t know how Chase would react.
I still don’t know for sure what he thinks about that night back in the Grave, and just like then, I’ve been careful to avoid discussing what happened in East Jersey.
We were both Darryl’s victims, and he’s following my lead.
I don’t want to talk about it so we don’t, and that’s that.
Maverick’s the same. He walked in on the worst of it, shooting Darryl before it could go beyond the point of no return… again. Like me and Chase, he’s refrained from discussing anything but hunting, lurkers, and our path to New York.
Something is different about tonight. I should probably stand up, walk over to my sleeping bag, lie back down, get some more sleep… but I don’t.
Instead, I say, “Thanks,” and get comfortable on the fallen log I’m sitting on. There’s a thin stick lying right next to where I plopped down. I pick it up and start aimlessly poking at the heart of the fire.
“You really care about your sister, don’t you?” he asks after a few tense moments.
That’s an understatement. “I guess.”
Maverick rests back on the heels of his hands, head tilted skywards.
“We all deal with grief differently,” he says quietly.
The flames crackle and spit, sparks flying high, but Maverick’s rumble is clear.
“I’d say you care about your sister a great deal.
I’ve been around you long enough to have seen there’s an ounce of her in everything you do.
You’ve put her on a pedestal.” He pauses. “Chase has, too.”
I don’t know what he means by that. I don’t ask, either.
The end of the stick has caught on fire. For a few seconds, I watch it burn before dragging it through the dirt and putting it out. Once every ember has been reduced to ash, I start to trace six letters in the dust—
H-A-L-L-I-E
—before scratching it out, erasing every one of the sharp lines.
“She’s gone now.” I remember that long ago morning in the kitchen with Jack, the heartfelt words I still can’t get out of my head. “Hallie’s gone and she’s never coming back. I know that.”
Maverick keeps his face turned away from me so I can’t see his reaction. On the plus side, that means he can’t see mine.
Then, even softer, I hear him say, “Why don’t you tell me about your jacket, Xandra.”
He struck a nerve.
“You tell me about your gun first,” I shoot back. “Why it’s so important you would’ve rather kept it than save me from the auction block? Your precious bullets… you had to throw one away anyway.”
Maverick’s head snaps over to me.
I don’t back down.
He should’ve expected this. He had to have known that, eventually, I’d call him out on what happened in East Jersey. I’m prepared to discuss what Darryl put Chase and me through in that room, but not before I get this part out.
Maverick frowns.
We’re at a stalemate. It’s like our first night in the trees, back before I knew Maverick at all. Even now, after all these weeks together, I’m not sure I know anything more than the few things he’s told me and all I’ve seen.
And then I think about myself. What exactly does he know about me?
Oh, sure, I’m Jack’s daughter, and Hallie’s twin. I’m a survivor, too. I once had a brother named Rory. But what else? I never even told him a damn thing about Chase, though I suspect he’s figured it out since then.
You’ve put her on a pedestal. Chase has, too…
There’s a sudden lump in my throat. I swallow it, watching as the flames reflect in Mav’s dark eyes.
Okay. Look, there has to be some sort of give and take. Maybe, for once, I should do some giving.
I toss my stick into the fire before climbing to my feet. From Maverick’s hooded expression, I’m willing to bet he’s expecting me to storm off and, ordinarily, that would be my initial response.
Not tonight.
Taking care to move around the fire without getting burned, I ease down and take a seat beside him.
“This jacket belonged to Rory,” I tell him, plucking at the sleeve.
“Your brother.”
He remembers.
“Yeah.” Hugging myself, I pull Rory’s jacket close. If I breathe in deep enough, I swear I can still smell him. “It was his favorite. A gift from his girlfriend, he wore it all the time when he wasn’t in uniform. It’s the last thing I have of his.”
Maverick turns to his right, grabbing some of the dry grass he’s stockpiled.
He tosses it on the fire and, for a few seconds, we watch as the flames leap up for a taste before settling back down, burning a little brighter than it was.
The fierce snaps die down to a soft crackle that is strangely calming.
“Your brother,” Maverick murmurs, “was he a victim or…”
Technically, anybody who died during the Turning is considered a victim, whether they were a victim of the Injection or a victim of someone who Turned.
But that’s not what Maverick is asking me.
“Rory was a firefighter, just like Jack. Except he took the Injection when they offered it to him. Not everyone did.” Maverick obviously didn’t, and cops were some of the first groups offered the Injection.
“He was always so sporty and outdoorsy, taught me everything I know about camping,” I add wistfully, “and he liked the idea of never getting sick, I guess. He never wanted to feel weak… he liked saving people. He was a good guy. He didn’t deserve what he got. ”