Chapter 21
As the days have passed, we’ve continued to have small groups and individuals approach our perimeter, wanting to join up with us.
It’s not surprising. There are a lot of people in the Central Cities who would love for things to change, who want to live freer, happier lives.
But we’ve been getting increasingly careful about letting newcomers in, unless they have a connection to our trusted circle.
The Capitol will still be trying every possible means to get to us, and sneaking someone into our midst under the guise of an ally is the most obvious method.
So we’ve only added a handful of new people since the ambush. It’s not worth the risk. Plus we’ve got the real Robin and all his people on our side now, so we aren’t desperate for additional numbers.
We need skill and luck and absolutely perfect timing. We don’t need to add numbers if it means risking another traitor.
But we added enough in the first couple of weeks after we took the outpost that I still don’t know everyone here personally.
There are a lot of people I mentally call new folks.
They’ve been working out well, taking their turns on duty shifts and getting along with the rest of the group.
But it doesn’t feel like I really know them, so I’ve been trying to spend some downtime hanging out with them to deepen the bonds so they feel more like trusted members of the group.
The day after my conversation with Ben in the storage room, a motley collection of newcomers are hanging out in the courtyard in the afternoon.
Since we’re in a holding pattern here until we move on the Arsenal next week, there’s not much to do when not on duty.
There are always groups scattered around during the days lounging and chatting.
Noticing most of this gathered group aren’t well known to me and having nothing else pressing to do, I walk over and ask if I can join them.
They’re openly pleased at the request. They make room to let me sit on the ground in their circle, and I ask them about their lives and backgrounds.
Most of them were born and raised in the same village—one about fifty miles away.
From the way they describe it, the village sounds a lot like the one where Teresa and I lived.
Most of the villages outside the Capitol are the same—made up of people doing the best they can in the narrow, restricted lives they’re given.
One of the men—named Harrow—is in his thirties and was trained as a woodworker. He’s been whittling a dog out of a stray chunk of wood he found, and I’m fascinated by the way it slowly takes shape.
Parker, another of the men, is younger. He has auburn hair and a ginger beard. He seems a friendly sort. He laughs a lot and stares at me with admiration.
I’m used to those looks and simply ignore them, answering him easily when he asks how I got started taking action against the government.
I keep my answers very vague, since there’s no way I’m going to put Teresa and Mason or even Ben’s family in danger by sharing details widely, but I give him a shortened version of my history. When Ben comes over, I’m still chatting, but I make room for him to sit beside me.
Ben doesn’t say anything as the conversation continues, but he doesn’t appear in a bad mood. He’s just always been quiet unless he has something to say.
Parker definitely has a crush. It’s more than obvious and becomes a little frustrating as the minutes pass. Especially when he gets up and walks over to sit on the ground on the opposite side of me from Ben.
I glance over and catch Ben’s eyes. He gives a small, barely perceptible eye roll. He’s used to men taking a physical interest in me and only has a problem when they try to act on it.
As Parker is asking me about how I learned to fight so well, he’s reaching into his trouser pocket. I notice it peripherally but don’t take much note.
Not until, as I’m explaining that it was Ben who taught me, Parker pulls a small knife out of his pocket, the kind where the blade flips up.
It’s strange, but it could mean anything. Anything. Even when he leans toward me, it could be for any number of reasons.
But it’s not for any of those harmless reasons.
Several things happen all at once.
I shift toward Ben and raise an arm in a blocking motion even before I see that Parker is actually lunging toward me with the knife. My move is instinctive and could have easily been covered had Parker not attacked.
My move is enough to block Parker’s lunge. His knife grazes my forearm instead of plunging into the side of my neck, where he was aiming. I automatically turn my motion into a roll, lifting both feet to slam them into Parker’s gut before I tuck them neatly and roll backward, farther away from him.
Most of the others around us cry out in outrage and surprise, several pulling their weapons. Harrow throws the dog he’s been chiseling right at Parker’s face. The blow hits his temple so hard it bounces off. I’m not sure why I notice that small detail in these fraught circumstances, but I do.
And Ben, who started to rise as soon as I shifted toward him, jumps right over my rolling body—as perfectly as if we choreographed it—and tackles Parker to the ground.
The whole thing takes a matter of seconds. By the time I’ve straightened up and jumped to my feet, Ben is lifting himself off the ground, and Parker is dead on the dirt of the courtyard.
Everyone is on their feet now, silent as death as we stare at each other, panting, tense, and on guard.
But there are no other attacks. Parker was acting alone.
He tried to kill me. Right here in the courtyard, surrounded by my people, where I should have been safe.
Something deep inside me starts shaking.
And it doesn’t stop.
That evening, I still feel shaky. Unsettled. Like a security down in my bones has been forever rattled. I couldn’t even explain why.
It’s not like I’ve never been attacked before.
When I was young, men would occasionally try to force themselves on me.
I was always able to get away because they didn’t expect someone as small as me to fight back.
Since Ben and I returned from the wilderness, my life has been in danger because of our missions and because I’m an individual target as a rebel leader.
Just a couple of weeks ago, Central Cities guards carried out a ruse to trick me into making myself vulnerable so they could kill me. As scary and upsetting as that was, this feels worse.
I don’t even know why.
I didn’t know Parker personally. I had no ties of friendship or commitment to him. But I’ve counted him as one of my people for weeks now. I genuinely believed he was a nice young man with a crush. Kind of like Troy.
But Parker wasn’t like Troy.
He was like the people who killed him.
The fact that the threat came from inside is different. That’s what I can’t shake off, even as we go through our normal routines for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
Parker was bribed to do what he did. That’s the consensus.
We already have proof that the government has offered rewards for information against us, so there’s no doubt they would reward someone killing me.
Most likely the money was offered to Parker’s family, since he must have known he wouldn’t likely survive the attack.
He was clever enough to wait as long as he did, looking for the exact time he could get close enough to make a move. It might have worked had I been a little less wary as my normal state of being.
It might have worked if Ben wasn’t always at my side to protect me.
The knife wound on my upper arm is minor and fully bandaged.
Everyone else has relaxed and come to terms with what happened.
The others around the fire keep telling the story, raving about how perfectly synced Ben and I were and laughing about how Harrow threw his half-carved dog instead of his knife.
I play along since I want everyone to believe it’s over and I’m fine.
But I don’t feel fine.
Sitting around a fire in the courtyard after eating, I’m honestly afraid I’ll either burst into tears or run away screaming. One or the other. I’m really close.
Ben got up a while ago to check with Ryan on any updates radioed in. When he returns, he walks to me instead of sitting down again, leaning over to say in a low voice that’s still audible to those around us, “Ryan has a few updates you should hear. Nothing urgent, so whenever you’re ready.”
I stand up immediately, relieved by the excuse to get away. I follow Ben into the building and then into the command station. I blink in surprise when Ben immediately says gruffly, “Can we have the room?”
Ryan has been manning the radio as normal. He spends half his life listening for news. But he gets up without a word of complaint or question, saying it’s time he grabbed some dinner anyway.
“What’s going on?” I ask, staring at the door Ryan closed after him as he left. “I thought there were reports.”
“There’s nothing. I just made up an excuse to get you out of there.”
“What? Why?”
“You know why. Because you’re about to fall apart. Are we really gonna go back to pretendin’ I can’t see what you’re feelin’?”
I gulp as emotion tightens in my throat like a rock. “Oh. Thanks. I think I’ll be okay. I don’t know why it hit me so…”
“It doesn’t matter why.” Ben is scowling at me as he sits down on the small sofa against the wall. “Just get your ass over here so I can hold you.”
His grumbled words make me chuckle. Maybe that’s what he intended. Then the amusement turns into something close to tears as I walk over and let him pull me down onto his lap.
He wraps his arms around me, tighter than he ever has, but it’s exactly what I need. I burrow into him, not really crying but trembling helplessly for a long time.
Until finally, finally, some of that internal shaking stops.
Ben doesn’t say anything, but he’s warm and strong and big and steady.
He’s mine, and he’s not going anywhere.
It’s a long time before I’m able to lift my head and meet his eyes. “I don’t know why I keep letting these things get to me.”
“They’d get to anyone. You spent a lot of time pretendin’ that nothing got through your hard shell, but pretendin’ doesn’t make it real.”
“No. It doesn’t. Maybe…” I swallow over the words I was about to say because they embarrass me.
“Maybe what?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I don’t care. Tell me anyway.”
I no longer have it in me to fight the world and resist Ben at the same time. Resist everything I want from him. So instead, I sigh and admit, “Maybe since I’ve started to let a few more softer feelings in, even more is getting through at the same time.”
“Yeah,” he says, a warm, gentle feeling in his eyes. “I think that’s probably right.”
“But I do have to be careful. I can’t be soft. I really can’t. Not if I want to continue in this fight.”
Ben strokes some loose strands of hair back from my face, brushing my skin with his fingertips. “How ’bout this then?” he says at last. “You can stay strong with everyone else, but you can be soft with me.”
I smile, my throat and eyes and heart pulsing with emotion. “Okay. Maybe we can try that. As long as the softness doesn’t bleed into the rest of my life.”
“Why should it? You got the strongest will of anyone I’ve ever known. If you want to make it work, then we will.”