Chapter Sixteen Sabra Kest
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sabra Kest
Sabra Kest had the kind of calm Rhett distrusted on principle.
People were not calm underground with five guns and two million gallons somewhere beyond a locked pipe.
They performed calm.
Sabra performed it beautifully.
"Put the rifle down," she said.
Rhett did not.
One of her riders aimed at Eden's chest.
Rhett lowered the rifle.
Eden looked at him.
He did not need her gratitude.
He needed her alive.
Sabra's men took their weapons.
They left the water.
That told Rhett more than a threat.
Sabra believed she owned the room already.
She sat on the edge of the cistern and crossed one boot over the other.
"Eden. You look terrible."
"Travel broadens."
"It has narrowed you."
Eden smiled without warmth.
"Still selling insults as hospitality?"
"Only to old employees."
"I was never your employee."
"Freelancer. Such a romantic word."
Rhett watched.
History moved between the women in ways he could not read.
Sabra glanced at him.
"Rhett Vargo. I expected broader shoulders."
"Disappointing people is a hobby."
"You've done well with it."
One of her riders laughed.
Sabra did not.
"Salt Narrows," she said.
Rhett's body went still.
Eden turned slightly.
Sabra noticed both.
"Ah. We arrived there quickly."
Rhett's voice flattened.
"What about it?"
Sabra opened a small leather book.
Not new.
Hesk's ledger.
Rhett knew before Eden made a sound.
Sabra turned pages.
"Hesk Vale was expensive. Not because he was clever. Because he was weak in too many directions and wanted payment for each."
Eden's face lost color.
"What did you buy?"
"Access."
"To Dustline."
"To everyone."
Sabra looked at Rhett.
"Three years ago, Glass Road needed fuel. Dustline needed water passage. Both were becoming inconveniently independent."
Rhett's jaw tightened.
"So you paid Hesk to mark the Narrows."
"I paid Hesk for your movement schedule. He chose the ambush."
"Why Tollhouse after?"
"Because people who survive an ambush need medicine, water, repair, and somewhere to blame. Business was exceptional."
Rhett wanted to shoot her.
The want was clean.
He did not move.
Eden asked, "Caro learned."
"Eventually."
"Did you kill her?"
"No."
The answer came fast.
Eden stared.
Sabra's expression changed by a fraction.
"I didn't need to. Junction Twenty-Seven was already moving."
Rhett felt cold.
"What does that mean?"
Sabra turned another page.
A Tollhouse report.
Dustline scouts had been told Glass Road's fuel carts carried ammunition intended for another strike.
Rhett remembered the messenger.
A man from a neutral repair camp.
Not Tollhouse.
He had believed him.
He had wanted to.
"You fed us the report."
"Yes."
Rhett's hands curled.
Sabra lifted one shoulder.
"I gave you information. You made a decision."
Eden looked at Rhett.
The sentence hurt because it was true.
Sabra smiled slightly.
"That is why I prefer leaders. They do the ugly part themselves."
Rhett crossed the space before anyone expected.
Two rifles came up.
He stopped one step from Sabra.
"You knew people would die."
"Yes."
"At Junction."
"Yes."
"Caro?"
"Not specifically."
Eden made a sound behind him.
Rhett turned.
Her face had closed completely.
Sabra continued.
"Caro Flint was investigating me. Hesk knew. I told him to stop her access. Your retaliation did the rest."
Rhett felt sick.
Explanation was not absolution.
Manipulation did not erase agency.
He had ordered Junction.
Still, Sabra had arranged the board and waited for anger to move the pieces.
Rhett stepped back.
Sabra looked satisfied.
Eden hated her more for that.
"Why tell us?" Eden asked.
"Because secrets have value only while someone can still use them against you. You'll learn them eventually. Better from me."
"You want the reservoir."
"Obviously."
"Why not kill us?"
"I need your coordinates."
Eden smiled.
"No."
Sabra's gaze cooled.
"You always did confuse refusal with power."
"And you confuse possession with value."
"Water has value because possession makes it scarce."
Rhett looked at the cistern.
There it was.
Not survival.
Not even greed exactly.
Control of movement.
Sabra stood.
"Reservoir Three sits behind a manual bypass. I know that much. I know Saint Mercy Gorge. I don't know the safe line across Mirror Salt, and I don't know which pressure channel Caro marked."
Eden said nothing.
"Give me the route."
"No."
Sabra sighed.
"I could hurt him."
Rhett almost laughed.
Eden did not.
"Try."
Sabra looked between them.
"Interesting."
Rhett disliked that word from her.
She stepped closer to Eden.
"I could hurt you."
"More efficient."
"Yes."
Sabra touched Eden's coat near the survey slate.
Eden slapped her hand away.
A guard raised his rifle.
Sabra lifted one finger.
He stopped.
"Still sharp," Sabra said.
"Still tedious."
The old familiarity made Rhett's stomach tighten in a way he did not want to name.
Jealousy was an absurd luxury underground.
Sabra looked at the western valve wheel.
"We leave at dawn. You guide."
"No."
"Then Dustline dies at Split Rock."
Rhett moved.
Sabra's guard hit him in the ribs with a rifle stock.
Pain exploded through his injured shoulder.
He dropped to one knee.
Eden lunged.
Two riders caught her.
"Rhett."
He looked up.
She had said his name without anger.
Sabra crouched in front of him.
"Forty-six people. One remaining tanker under thirty percent. I have three water trucks at Saint Mercy. You can make this easy."
Rhett spat blood onto the floor.
"You're offering to sell me water you haven't stolen yet."
Sabra smiled.
"Always thinking ahead."
Eden stopped struggling.
Rhett saw the calculation in her face.
"No."
She looked at him.
He knew what she was about to do.
Lie.
"Fine," Eden said. "I'll guide you."
Sabra stood.
"Good."
Rhett kept his expression blank.
Eden glanced once at the three fuel cells stacked near their packs.
Then at the old pump controller.
A plan.
He did not know it.
That frightened him.
He trusted her anyway.
Sabra ordered two guards to bind their hands and put them in the dry equipment room.
The door locked.
Darkness.
Rhett sat against the wall.
Eden whispered, "You all right?"
"Ribs."
"Shoulder?"
"Still attached."
"Good."
He heard her moving.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking off my boot."
"This seems poorly timed."
"The ankle brace has a steel stay."
Metal scraped.
A minute later, Eden pressed something thin into his hands.
"Lock."
Rhett smiled in the dark.
"Route surveyor."
"People keep putting me behind doors."
He worked the improvised pick into the old lock.
"You're going to guide her wrong."
"Not exactly."
"Define not exactly."
"The route I give Sabra reaches Saint Mercy."
"That sounds exact."
"It crosses the pressure wash."
Rhett paused.
"What pressure wash?"
"Emergency overflow channel."
Understanding came slowly.
"If we open Pump Six—"
"We don't. We vent it."
"With what?"
"The fuel cells."
Rhett laughed softly.
"Context."
"Exactly."
They had one chance.
No weapons.
Four guards.
A woman who had spent years profiting from other people's anger.
Rhett felt the lock shift.
Beside him, Eden waited.
He had spent three years believing her map was part of the worst thing that had happened to his family.
Now he was betting every life he led on one of her routes.
The lock clicked.
Neither of them spoke.
They opened the door.