"Reece and Ryder know how to take care of themselves. We were trained for these situations, and we have a plan for if we get separated." He pounds his fist against the right side of the trunk. "Now if I could just get us out of this trunk ..."
Even though he said he has a plan, I'm still worried we won't get out of here alive and that Ryder and Reece are somewhere out there hurt. Or what if the Tracker... ate them? I'm not sure what a Tracker does exactly. Or the other thing with the red eyes.
As I plunge into my worried thoughts, Blaise leans forward and squints at a small crevice in the side. He taps his knuckles against it a few times before rolling onto his back and positioning the flashlight between us. Then he bends his knees and bashes the bottom of his clunky boots against the gap. The idea that he could break through metal using just his feet doesn't seem possible, yet the small crevice widens. Sunlight creeps in, and I cover my eyes, listening to Blaise kick and grunt and wondering how he's so strong.
"All right, let's get out of here," he says after he stops kicking.
I remove my hand from my eyes and look at a hole wide enough for us to climb through. "How did you do that?"
He shrugs. "I kicked it."
"I know, but ..."
Without waiting for me to finish, he ducks his head through the hole and hoists himself out. Once he's all the way outside of the trunk, he squats down and reaches back inside.
"Give me your hand," he instructs. "I'll pull you out."
I put my palm in his, sit up, and keeping my head low, scoot toward the opening.
"Try not to bump your shoulder on anything." His fingers are firm around mine. "I don't want you to jack it up more."
I tuck my shoulder inward, hunker down, and slip my head through the hole. He gives my arm a good tug while I push up on my toes and drag myself out of the trunk. I roll out onto the dirt, the sunlight instantly casting across my face, and throw my arm over my face to protect my eyes.
"Stay here. I'll find the sunglasses," Blaise says, releasing my hand.
It grows quiet as he goes back to the car. A minute later, he crouches down beside me. He fits the sunglasses over my face, and I open my eyes, blinking up at him.
"The lenses are cracked," he explains. "But they should still protect your eyes."
I bob my head up and down then steal a glance at the bleeding sky, testing the strength of the glasses. It's not too terrible. Tolerable, at least.
I look over at the car, now balanced upside down on the roof. The wheels are flattened, the rods on the rims are bent and snapped off, and the exterior is crunched into a ball. I doubt it's drivable, and I wonder how we're going to get to the station.
Blaise stands up and stares down at me with his hands on his hips. "I need to find something to put in your mouth."
"What?" I gasp. "W-why?"
"So you don't bite your tongue when I pop your shoulder back into place," he says quickly. "Sorry, I should've explained that first. You talk and interact so well. It's hard to remember you come from the channels."
I want to ask him where he comes from, but I'm not sure if I should. While he thinks I interact well, I find it complicated. How do I know what the right thing is to say? If I dared talk to a warden like I've been talking to Blaise, Ryder, and Reece, I'd be beaten. But they aren't wardens. At least, I'm pretty sure they aren't.
Blaise glances over at the demolished car. "I don't think there's anything in there we can use, but I'm going to check, anyway." He holds up a finger. "Just stay here, okay?"
I nod. "Where else would I go?"
A ghost of a smile starts to appear on his lips, but the look promptly fades. Then he spins on his heels and ducks back into the trunk.
My gaze wanders to the land. There's a path in the ground where the Tracker tore up the dirt, gaping holes surround the car, and dust still lingers in the air.
A sudden sadness hits me. I don't want to believe this is all there is out here. The guys spoke of a broken city. From what I remember, cities were overpopulated and full of towering steel and glass buildings. There has to be more ... somewhere.
Coddling my shoulder, I rotate on my side and look in the opposite direction. I can't see any sign of anything, including Reece or Ryder, and my worry grows. Could the Tracker have done something to them? I shake my head. No. I won't let those kinds of thoughts enter my mind. If I can hang on to hope for years while living under the wardens' commands, I can remain hopeful out here.
I start to lie back down when I spot something glimmering amongst the desolateness and disturbingly red sky.
"Can you see it?" Blaise's footsteps crunch against the dirt as he walks up behind me.
I twist back around and shield my eyes with my hand. The sunlight shines against his back and casts a shadow across his face. In his hand, he's carrying an article of clothing, and slung around his shoulders is a sling lined with bullets.
"See that light?" I ask, and he nods. "Yeah, what is it?"
He kneels down beside me, sets the clothing down, and aims a finger at the sparkling in the distance. "That's the broken city."
"It looks so small. I thought cities were supposed to be big."
"It's small because we're so far away. When we get closer, it'll look a hell of a lot bigger. Too big in my opinion."
"You don't like the city? Why? Is it a bad place?"
His lips twitch. "You ask a lot of questions."
"Sorry," I say, feeling stupid.
"You don't need to be sorry. It's not a bad thing." He scratches his head. "It's just surprising."
"Because I'm a Nameless?" I ask, and he nods. "How many have you met? I mean, how many Nameless have you saved? Is that what you do? Save them? Because I thought I heard Ryder say you were at the channels to save me."
Instead of answering, he studies me closely, sucking on the barbell in his lip.
"I'm sorry if I'm asking so many questions," I say softly. "I'm just so confused."
He releases the barbell from his teeth. "It's okay. There's just so much you don't know, and I'm not sure I'm the best person to explain everything."
"Why?"
"Because I don't sugarcoat shit. That's more Reece and Ryder's thing."
"Sugarcoat?"
"Soften the truth."
"Oh." My mind starts to spin again as I struggle to keep up with everything he's saying. My throat is on fire from all the talking, but now that I've started, I can't seem to stop. Questions press against my lips, begging to be asked. "What if I don't want the truth softened?"
He flexes his fingers at his side. "You just got out of the channels. I'm not sure if now's the best time to tell you just how fucked up our world is."
I force down the lump in my throat. "I might not understand this world, but I lived in the channels, so I know about the bad stuff. I can handle it."
"Yeah, but ..." He shakes his head. "I'll tell you what. Let me pop your shoulder into place, and then I'll explain the rules of surviving out here and in the city. It's probably better if you know what to expect. That way, you can prepare yourself."
I tell myself he's right, but deep down, I'm afraid. What if I fought to live for all those years just so I could escape and struggle to survive? What if living in this world is just as horrifying as being trapped in the channels?
Chapter Six
The Rules of Survival
"The first rule of survival," Blaise says, picking up a piece of clothing beside him, "is to trust no one unless they've earned your trust. However, right now, I'm going to have to ask you to break that rule and trust me."
"You haven't earned my trust yet?" I question because it seems like saving me from the channels should mean I can trust him.
The corners of his lips curve to a slight smile. "No, I haven't even come close yet, but I'm going to try my damn hardest." He wrings the fabric. "I need to put this in your mouth. It's the only thing I could find besides the flashlight, and I think that might crack your teeth if you bite too hard."
&n
bsp; With how cautious he looks, I wonder if he somehow knows this isn't the first time someone has gagged me. The wardens had these awful muzzles made of thick leather straps and large metal buckles that they used when they caught me trying to talk to another prisoner. I would spend hours, if not days, gagged in my cell, unable to part my lips more than a half an inch.
"You won't tie my hands up, right?" My unsteady voice reveals my nerves.
"I swear to God I won't." A contemplative look crosses his face. Then he slips a hand inside his jacket and draws out a gun. "I'll even let you hold this while I do it. That way, if it turns out that I lied to you, you can shoot me."
He sets the gun in my hand, and I wrap my fingers around the handle, feeling the weight and familiarity. I don't know when, where, or why, but this isn't the first time I've held a gun.
He looks me straight in the eyes. "Are you ready for this?"
I run my index finger along the trigger of the gun. While I don't think he'll lie to me, I like that I have the option of protecting myself. "I think so."
He moves the cloth toward my lips. I bury my nerves and unhinge my jaw. When he stuffs the fabric inside my mouth, I pull a face.
"It tastes funny," I say, my voice muffled.
Again, he almost smiles, but never quite gets there. "It's one of Ryder's shirts."