Chapter 23
We have just enough time to set explosives on the road and move our people into position. Three transport trucks of troops equal a large number. In a one-to-one fight, we’d probably end up in a stalemate.
But we have the advantage—not only because we have the element of surprise but because we can place ourselves in the most advantageous positions.
So thirty minutes later, I’m sitting with Ben in one of the Central Cities motors we commandeered on the top of a hill that overlooks the road, waiting for the transports to reach a choke point at the bend of the road.
“I can’t believe they decide to do this the day before the attack,” I say.
“I know. Talk about bad fuckin’ timin’.” He slants me a look. “Don’t get an itchy trigger finger. We’re only goin’ down if they need help.”
“I know that.” I shoot him a cool glare.
“You’re not puttin’ yourself in unnecessary danger the day before we make our move.”
“I just said I know that.”
“But I also know you don’t like to sit idle when there’s a fight. So I’m just sayin’.”
“I’m not going to drive us down there unless two more guns can make the difference. But we have to win this particular fight if we want to get to the bigger fight tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Ben doesn’t look happy. He’s usually primed for a mission the way I am, so his mood isn’t typical.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask him, reaching over to touch his arm gently. He’s wearing an old long-sleeved crewneck, and the fabric is soft and worn.
He shakes his head.
“Ben.”
“I’m pissed,” he bites out, cutting his gaze back to me from the road in the distance. “Everythin’ was goin’ right, and then this happens.”
“I feel the same way. But there’s nothing we can do about it except get through this as well as we can. I guess it’s inevitable something goes wrong.”
“It better not go wrong in a way that gets you hurt.”
“Ben—”
“I mean it.” He’s glowering—not at me but at the universe.
“If I don’t get hurt today, I might get hurt tomorrow.”
“You sure as hell aren’t gettin’ h—”
“I’m not sitting out the fight to stay safe.” I interrupt him sharply. “So don’t even think about suggesting that.”
“I wasn’t gonna suggest that. I know it’d be a losin’ battle. I just don’t want you to do anythin’ stupid.”
“I’m not—”
“We need you.”
I blink at him.
“All of us. We need you. We never woulda got here without you.”
“I know,” I say more gently. “I really do understand that. And I’m not going to throw myself into unnecessary danger. I promise. But I’m not hiding on the sidelines either.”
He stares at me, breathing heavily.
“You know me, Ben.”
“Yeah. I know you, baby.” He’s hoarse. Tired. “Just remember the stakes, is all I’m saying. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, but you’re not only important to me.”
A shudder runs through my body. I take a thick breath. “Damn it, Ben. If you even think of making me cry, right before—”
“I’m sorry, but it needs to be said. Some people end up at the center of larger change in the world. They’re the hinge of a turning point, whether they want to be or not. You’re one of those people. So if something happens to you, it won’t just destroy me. It will change the world for the worse.”
“It’s not—”
“Yes, it is. It’s exactly like that. So remember the stakes every time you make a choice about your safety, is all I’m saying.”
His words still me. Silence me. I stare up at him blindly.
Finally I say, “Okay. Then why don’t…” I have to clear my throat. “Why don’t you decide if and when we need to go down?” I’m shaking a little, and I don’t even know why.
“You mean it?”
“Yes. I mean it.”
“Okay. I will.” He leans over to kiss me very softly. “Thank you.”
The first truck comes into sight two minutes later.
Ben and I both straighten up, tense and alert as we watch the approach. The trucks are still driving together, one right after the other, maintaining a consistent speed. So when an explosion goes off, it should have blown the first truck off-balance and led to collision with the two behind it.
But the first explosion is slightly off mark, and it doesn’t damage the truck at all. It does startle the driver, causing him to swerve wildly to the other side of the road. The trucks behind him slow down but don’t collide.
“Shit,” Ben mutters, watching the road in the distance as closely as I am.
“There’s another—”
The second explosion goes off before I finish the sentence.
This one was supposed to hit the second truck, but the first one is still on the road so the explosion hits it instead. It goes off right beneath the vehicle, and the force causes the right side of the truck to come off the road. It wobbles and falls.
This time the truck behind it swerves so dramatically it runs off the road, tipping sideways in the ditch.
The third truck is able to come to a safe stop, and the troops in the back come out shooting.
Our people are ready. They fire back from all sides in protected positions. Most of the guards in the third truck go down in the first wave. But the guards in the other two trucks are still alive. Some are injured, but others are simply banged around from the collisions.
There are a lot of them. And some of them manage to fortify themselves between two trucks and find a position to shoot back.
“Damn,” I say as I watch. “I was hoping it would be done before they found a safe position.”
Not all guards are buffoons like the arrogant asshole who followed us from my mother’s village. Some of them are smart and competent. And all of them have better weaponry than we do.
So far, we’re holding the advantage, but the guards still on their feet are going to kill some of my people before we’re able to kill them.
Ben and I need to go down.
Sometimes all it takes is one new angle of fire to shift the balance.
Every muscle in my body is tight as I sit and watch, holding myself back from action with nothing more than the power of my will.
Ben and I agreed that he would make the call, and I’m going to hold true to that even if it feels like it’s tearing me apart.
“Shit,” Ben breathes, as tense now as I am.
I wait another minute in stiff silence. I’m watching when Wilson—a cheerful scrappy young man—steps out from the protection of the trees to get a better angle on the guards.
He’s shot almost immediately, falling down into an awkward, limp sprawl.
I gasp and clench my hands.
“Let’s go,” Ben mutters, checking his automatic rifle and leaning over so he can shoot out of the window of the motor.
I shift the vehicle into drive and hit the accelerator, coming down the hill straight and fast. When we get close enough, Ben starts firing, and I reach one hand out the window so I can shoot my pistol while keeping the other hand on the wheel.
Our unexpected approach takes the surviving guards by surprise. Some of them begin shooting at us. When we’re close enough, I shift into park, and I move to hang out the window like Ben is so I can shoot more accurately.
I’ve got a clear line on one of the guards—the one I’ve identified as the best shot—and am about to pull the trigger when my body is abruptly yanked backward.
It’s Ben. He’s stopped shooting to pull me back into the motor.
Where it’s safe.
I gasp in outrage—more than that, really. It feels like a betrayal.
The fight isn’t over yet, so I swallow over my reaction. He’s still got his hand on my shoulder and is shooting one-handed out the window, so I tear out of his grip and move back into position.
The windshield is blown out just then, and Ben grabs my head and pushes me downward.
I know he’s trying to protect me. I know it.
But he also knows this kind of forced, restrictive protection is the last thing in the world I want.
He knows.
He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s physically stronger than me, so he can hold my body down.
It hurts so much—down deep in the vulnerable core of me—that I’m almost in tears. I can’t fight Ben right now in the front of a motor when we and all my other people are in a gunfight.
So I stay in place, bending forward the way Ben put me, and hug myself to try to stop shaking until the gunshots finally slow and then stop.
I don’t move from my position, even when I hear Roderick calling out to round up the guards’ weapons.
“Okay,” Ben says in a strained voice. “It’s done.”
When I still don’t sit up, he gently straightens me up with a hand on my shoulder.
I stare at him through blurry eyes, his big, broad, handsome face looking like that of a stranger.
I should be devastated, but I’m not.
I’m… numb.
Ben obviously sees it. He makes a concerned sound and jumps out of the motor, running around to my side to help me out.
I let him help me because I can’t do anything else.
He tries to cup my cheek with one hand, and I yank myself away from him violently.
His face twists. “I’m sorry, baby.”
I’ve been in fights before. Plenty of them. I’ve had to fight for my life more times than I can possibly remember. But never have I wanted to lash out the way I want to lash out at Ben right now.
Because I’m wounded. And lashing out is what a wounded animal does.
But I don’t hit him or raise my voice or anything except hiss out, “Don’t you ever call me baby again.”