We were a good mile in and I was about to su
ggest we get out of there when Jolie finally spotted it: a small cat’s head made with pebbles in a garden. Silently we headed around to the back of the house and tapped softly on a window. There was no answer. Bunny tapped again a bit louder. Finally the door opened a crack.
“Who’s there?” The woman sounded suspicious, or scared.
“I thought I smelled a pie baking,” Ansel said.
There was a pause. “I’ve got a cherry one just come out of the oven.”
“Cherry’s my favorite,” Ansel said. He knew the code, and that was the final thing that convinced me he was one of us. Now I just had to get him to tell me the secret of getting into the city—the capital.
“Go to the back garage,” the woman whispered. “The door is open. Go upstairs. Pull the drapes before you turn on any lights. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
Just to be out of the cold seemed amazing. We went upstairs silently despite our weariness and found that the space over the garage had beds and a kitchenette and a shower. I was concerned about Nate—he’d been flagging more and more all day, despite keeping up. Now he looked gray-skinned and clammy.
I hoped rest and food would give him the strength to carry on. I hoped I wouldn’t have to leave him here.
Cassie would kill me.
57
IT WAS MAYBE TEN MINUTES before the woman appeared with food.
We fell on the hot stew like starving pigs, then shoveled in bread and butter and cider and fruit as fast as we could while the woman watched us with equal amounts of amusement and horror. Even Ansel, exhausted as he was, was able to put away a good amount, and he looked much better afterward. The open wounds around his wrists and ankles needed tending, but he was going to be okay.
Only Nate ate slowly, as if each bite took too much effort, as if swallowing was difficult. I could tell the woman noticed it, and she said there was first-aid stuff in the bathroom.
“What kind of cell is this?” I asked when I couldn’t inhale any more anything.
“Manufacturing,” she said. “We make luxury cars. I can give you a tour tomorrow—this cell is big and you won’t stand out.”
“What’s a luxury car?” Mills asked. “Like for a Provost?” He shot a glance at Nate. “Some of them,” said the woman. “Not all of them. Get some sleep.”
My squad of tough, kickass soldiers was soon splayed across bunks like puppies, shoes still on, rifles cradled like stuffed animals. Except for Nate.
“Come on,” I said, gesturing him to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet while I carefully unwound his bandages, wetting them with warm water when they stuck.
“How does it look?” Nate asked.
Like you’re about to go septic, I thought, but said, “Okay.” His wounds were ugly, raw, and red. I cleaned them really well, then slathered them with antibiotic cream and rebandaged them. Tomorrow I would ask the woman if she could get her hands on stronger antibiotics.
“Okay, here,” I said, giving him three generic pain pills. “Go to sleep.”
Nate staggered to an empty bunk and collapsed on it in slow motion.
I climbed into the last empty one, thinking about tomorrow, about Nate, about Ansel, about my sister and how she was doing, and most of all about Tim, who I missed so much that my arms ached.
I closed my eyes for just a second.
58
IT WAS DARK WHEN SOMETHING woke me—I’d been a super light sleeper since the Crazy House. Frowning, I listened again and heard the same sound. Instantly I was out of bed, on my feet, and reaching for my weapon.
Moments later I realized that it was Nate. He was still asleep but moaning in pain. I put my gun down and felt his forehead. He was burning up, hot and dry-skinned, but also shaking with cold. Crap.
I padded to the bathroom, got more pain meds, and managed to help him sit up a bit to get them down with some water. Then he curled up again, his chills wracking his body so hard that his bed shook.
God, what to do? Everything in me just wanted to hit my own bed and sleep for three days. But I was the squad leader. I was responsible for everyone in it. I’d already lost Levi. Was I going to lose Nate, too?