Chapter 6
“Dissent in the southeast quadrant has been quelled. I should have realized sooner that a moral code is the best way to unite people. It may, in fact, be the only way. External communications will now focus on biblical values as our foundation. We need to grow the population while maintaining control, and that messaging is the way.” - Excerpt from a message from New America President Soren Whitman to his top advisers
Briar
When Mae and I were kids, we shared a bedroom. I’m only eighteen months older than her, and when we were young, our mom helped us push our twin beds together. We kept them that way for years, and every night we talked and giggled in bed until one of us fell asleep.
I moved from Marcus’s room into Amira’s after the night I killed Virginia. I could have gotten my own room, but I like sharing with her. Our late-night conversations from our respective cots remind me of Mae.
I have to find my sister on the mainland. It means more to me than anything. But I don’t have a way to get off the island. Yet.
I also have unfinished business with Lochlan Murphy, the commander I was forced into a sham marriage with, and with Soren Whitman himself.
My dad taught me how to fight, but it was those two men who unknowingly shaped me into a weapon.
Over the years since the virus came, my raging, fiery river of fury has poured itself into a mold with one purpose: hardening me into the warrior I’ve needed to become. Hell hath no fury like a woman forged.
“Remember shaving cream?” Amira asks as we’re getting our things together for our morning bathroom run. “That silky soft feeling it left behind?”
I hum longingly. “The best. And good moisturizer.”
She groans dramatically. “Bubble baths.”
“Pedicures.”
“Ice cream.”
Our game is cut off by a camp-wide alarm. It’s a long, repeating beep. Different from the one that signals an incoming ship.
“Fuck.” I sit down on the floor to pull my boots on. “What does that one mean? Are we being attacked?”
Amira’s putting on her thick, army-green pants. “No, that one’s more of a whoop-whoop sound. I think this one means lockdown. Shelter in place if you can, or get to the Sub.”
The radio on the other side of the room crackles to life. “This is Ares. Command Team One to Rendezvous Point One.”
My stomach drops. I can tell from the clip in his voice that whatever’s going on, it’s serious.
“We need to stay together,” I tell Amira.
I don’t have a gun. We keep them locked up in the Sub and only get them out in emergencies. Amira is the best archer on this island, but a bow and arrow won’t save her from every situation. I’ve already lost what I had with Marcus. I can’t lose my best friend.
The only weapon I have with me now is a hunting knife. Instead of putting it in a sheath and wearing it around my waist, I carry it, keeping it pointed at the ground. Amira has her bow and a quiver full of arrows.
“Ready?” she asks me, her hand on the sliding lock securing our door.
“Yeah.”
My heart races, every cell in my body on high alert as I step into the wood-planked hallway of our housing unit. A shelter-in-place order doesn’t apply to the command teams, but we can hear people running and yelling nearby, trying to reach shelter.
When we step outside, a bead of sweat slides down my spine. It’s going to be brutally hot on the island today.
People are racing in all directions, their expressions panicked.
“What’s going on?” a woman asks me, holding a toddler against her chest.
“I don’t know. Let’s get you to the Sub.”
It’s the most secure place to be in an emergency. Amira and I scan the camp for threats as we jog toward the Sub with the woman and child. Rendezvous Point One is outside the front of the Sub.
When we get there, Marcus, Olin, and Wyatt are waiting. Olin’s gaze locks onto mine, concern etched into his features. Nova comes flying out of the Sub’s main door, her eyes wild and frantic. A hunting knife and a handgun are holstered around her waist, and she has a rifle in hand.
“Don’t you dare try to stop me,” she says to Marcus, her tone menacing.
My heart pounds with worry. I’ve never seen Nova look the slightest bit out of control, but right now she’s unhinged.
“Give me five minutes,” Marcus says. “I know—”
“Fuck you,” she snaps. “I’m going after my wife.”
“What happened?” I ask.
Nova gives me a dark look. “They took Ellison.”
My stomach drops to the ground. “No. The Tiders?”
Marcus’s eyes find mine, the swirl of emotions I see throwing me off balance. He looks like Nova sounds, but he’s outwardly keeping calm.
Adele runs up to us, her eyes wide with alarm.
“What’s going on?”
“Ellison’s been kidnapped,” Olin says.
Marcus narrows his eyes at Olin. “Who the fuck said you’re on this team? You’re supposed to be sheltering.”
“I can help.”
Olin shocked me when we brought him to our camp and discovered by accident that not only can he talk despite convincing people he’s mute, but he was sent here by the Idaho Liberation Front to gather intelligence.
He’s only twenty-one, his chaotic red hair and lanky frame making him look like a college student who overslept for an exam.
“Go.” Marcus points at the Sub.
“Fuck this.” Nova sneers and turns.
“Nova, stop,” I say. “I’m going with you. But let’s take a breath and make a plan.”
She pauses. Marcus glares at Olin, and I walk over to stand beside him.
“I trust him,” I say. “I think he’d be an asset to our team.”
“You want to put the spy on our top team? He’s not even on our side.”
“I’m more on your side than theirs,” Olin says. “I can help.”
“You’re in,” Nova snaps. “Let’s make a plan right fucking now.”
Marcus crosses his arms, exhaling heavily. “Where the hell is Chance?”
On cue, Chance approaches us, his dripping wet hair indicating he was taking a shower when the alarm went off.
Marcus proceeds without preamble.
“The guy sent to help Pax took Ellison early this morning,” he says.
“What guy?” Wyatt asks. “Who sent him?”
“Whitman or one of his people. His name’s Theron. I have no idea how, but he took Ellison when she was out gathering herbs this morning.”
Adele’s brow crinkles with confusion. “Wait, how? She gathers herbs in the garden. Did she leave camp?”
“No.” Marcus rubs a hand over his jawline. “Two of the laundry people on bikes saw it go down. Theron told them to tell me if I want her, I can come get her at Rising Tide.”
Tears stream down Nova’s face, her jaw clenched and her nostrils flaring. I can’t imagine the hell she must be in right now. She and Ellison are two halves of a whole.
“So let’s go,” I say.
“Wait.” Amira puts up a palm, giving me a worried look. “Something’s not right. How did he get into our camp?”
Marcus’s grim expression tells me he’s got the same question. We have a frequency shield in the Sub that makes the perimeter around our camp impenetrable to anyone with active aromium. It’s the only thing that keeps the Tiders from attacking us and taking over our camp.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Nova says. “Let’s go.”
“Okay, but ... what if that’s exactly what they want us to do?” Wyatt says. “Do we know if our shield is up? They could be waiting to attack while we’re gone.”
“It’s programmed to set off an alarm if it goes down,” Marcus says. “We’ll check it before we go and I’ll tell Stella everyone needs to shelter in the Sub. They can secure it from the inside.”
No one objects to that plan, but I think we’re all concerned we may be falling into a trap, no matter which way we go. Theron hasn’t even been on the island for twenty-four hours, and he’s already turned the tables on us.
“I’m leaving in five minutes,” Nova says. “With or without you guys.”
Fifteen minutes later, Marcus and I are leading the way through the jungle, following the well-worn dirt path that will take us to Rising Tide. Our group of eight is walking in pairs, keeping distance between each pair in case of an ambush.
“What are you thinking?” Marcus asks, his tone low.
“Nothing good.” We’ve sidelined our personal issues, focused only on getting Ellison back. “They could slaughter us all when we walk into camp.”
No amount of guns and stun sticks could protect us from that many trained fighters. The Tiders hate us more than ever over Virginia’s death and their lack of supplies.
We all turned our aromium on at the edge of the perimeter, where it can safely be switched on with a device. Everyone except Marcus, because he almost died the last time he used his aromium and he can’t risk using it without a stabilizer, which I’m not sure we’ll ever figure out how to make.
Something brushes the edges of my senses all at once. It’s a low crackle of awareness—almost a hum, but without sound. I feel it with every step I take.
It’s different than the sensation of vines communicating with me. This is something bigger. I’ve never experienced it, with or without my aromium. But I don’t want to mention it. All that matters right now is getting Ellison back.
“Theron either doesn’t have aromium, or he brought a switching device with him,” Marcus says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
I understand why. That news would incite panic. I think he’s right, though. Our shield is active, which means no one with aromium could have come into our camp.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure Nova and Olin are out of earshot behind us, I say, “It’s more likely he doesn’t have it.”
“I agree.” Marcus scans both sides of the jungle, on alert for anything that could threaten us.
“Pax would’ve taken her himself if he could’ve,” I say.
“I don’t know if he’s got the balls. That could’ve gone bad. It should’ve, if our patrol team was doing its fucking job.”
He slashes an arm out in front of me, forcing me to stop. Then he raises his other arm in the air, signaling everyone behind us to stop.
“Listen,” he whispers.
Aromium enhances the senses, so every call, chitter, and roar has coalesced into white noise I’m not even paying attention to anymore. I stop breathing, trying to hear whatever Marcus does.
“Marcus!”
The concerned shout makes us both turn. It was Wyatt. He and Chance were walking behind Nova and Olin. I squint to see what Wyatt’s looking at behind him.
“Stay alert,” Marcus says softly.
Movement on the dirt path behind Wyatt makes me reach for the handgun I have holstered.
Wyatt drops his stun stick and Chance tosses his gun to the ground. That’s when I see what has their attention.
It’s the massive newcomer to Rising Tide, Theron. He has a thick arm wrapped around Amira’s waist, her back to his chest as he forces her to walk in front of him. His other hand holds a knife, the blade at her throat.
“No,” I whisper.
“Drop your fucking weapons and walk!” Theron yells.
Another Tider has Adele walking in front of her, Adele’s hands in the air. Wyatt and Chance look at Marcus, whose scowl deepens.
“Drop your weapons or I cut,” Theron barks, the vibrations of his deep bellow making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I release my hold on my gun, the terror in Amira’s eyes wrapping a fist around my heart. Nova and Olin drop their weapons, too. Only Marcus keeps his gun in hand.
The rest of our team reaches us, all eight of us clustering together. Marcus stands out front, pointing his weapon at Theron.
“Both of ’em die if you don’t drop it in two seconds,” Theron says. “One—”
“Marcus!” I scream, terrified I’m about to watch Amira die.
At the same moment, he bends and sets the gun on the ground.
Disappointment flickers over Theron’s expression. He wanted to kill Amira. I keep my eyes on hers in silent reassurance.
Of what, I don’t know, because we’re officially fucked.