Rebellion (33 page)

A strangled cry comes from behind her. As Harry helps her to her feet, I notice Buck on the ground, knocked onto his stomach from the force of the explosion. He’s missing a part of his left leg, below his knee. There’s a huge chunk of metal in his thigh.

Skylar is fine. Harry and Dean are too.

Buck is on the ground, knocked onto his stomach from the force of the explosion. There’s a huge chunk of metal in his leg, and probably other, smaller bits in the rest of his body. He’s missing a part of his left leg, below his knee. There’s a huge chunk of metal in his thigh. His blood leaks onto the floor, among the ashes and debris from the explosion.

The roar of X-wing engines fills the hangar. The ships with Sam and Beechy are here.

Flames from the destroyed fighter jet lick at Buck’s bloody, mangled legs. He’s going to catch fire. He claws at the floor like he’s trying to heave himself away from the wreckage, but it does no good.

“Help me!” The words erupt from his mouth, full of torment. “Please!”

I need to force my feet to move. Someone needs to help him, and none of the others will. Dean’s staring at Buck with terror in his eyes, like he’s never seen a person injured in an explosion before.

Move, move, move!
I urge my body.

I take a slow step forward. Then another. The effort makes my forehead sweat. I’m not going to reach Buck fast enough. Sam’s ship and the others are landing—someone’s going to stop me.

Out of the corner of my eye, a laser beam flies at Harry from behind one of the nearby flight pods. He doesn’t notice until it’s too late. He stumbles with a yell, his hand moving to where the laser struck his side.

Skylar and Dean turn toward where the fire came from, raising their guns. There must be more rebels hiding behind the flight pods. I need to make sure they realize who I am and know I’m on their side, not Sam’s. But first I need to save Buck. If I could pull him out of the way of the fire and bind the stump of his leg, I might be able to keep him from bleeding to death.

He’s seven feet away now … six … five …

“Clem, duck!” Skylar shouts.

I duck automatically. A laser whizzes over my head.

Another nearly hits Dean. The rebels step out from behind the pods, all of them firing at us. I turn to face them, raising my gun against my will. Five rebels, I count. Darren, the pilot from Cady’s recon mission; Fiona, my roommate; Uma, the nurse who fixed my tattoo; a male Unstable I can’t remember the name of; and Sandy.

They don’t recognize me, or if they do they don’t care about hurting me. I move my feet so their fire won’t hit me.

My arm finds an easy shot. I aim at Fiona’s chest.

No—no—no—no—no—

My fingers squeeze the trigger, but I manage to move my arm away at the last second. The laser skims the air beside her waist. Thank the stars.

Fiona freezes, her gun still in the air, gaping at me. She must’ve realized who I am.

A laser flies past me, from somewhere behind me. The other officials have climbed out of their ships, armed and ready to fight.

The rebels scurry behind their pods to take cover. Skylar aims one last shot at Darren as he runs, but misses.

Sam’s voice arises, magnified through his helmet. “There’s no point in hiding. You’re all outnumbered.”

He steps into view to the right of me. Beechy stops on my left side, and the rest of the officials move to gather around us.

Cameron and Landers have one rebel in their custody, bound and gagged—a woman I recognize from Karum, who has a bloody cut on her forehead. They must’ve killed the pilot from the other rebel ship.

I suddenly remember—Buck. He’s on the other side of Beechy, farther away from me, since I moved while I was shooting. Buck has stopping struggling. He’s lying still on the ground while the flames slowly burn through his pants.

I’m too late.

“Lieutenant Dean, go with Cadets Marshall and Crowley and unload the explosives,” Sam says. “Stack them around the perimeter of the hangar. The rest of you, keep your guns raised.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean and the other two move to follow his orders.

Sam clicks the safety of his weapon off and on, focusing his eyes on the flight pods. The rebels haven’t stepped out from behind them again; they must know they can’t defeat us all.

When Sam speaks, there’s amusement in his voice. “Sandy, did you know Clementine and Skylar are here, as well as your husband? Beechy’s become rather more obedient than I’m guessing he was the last time you saw him. Funny how a prick of a needle can change someone.”

He’s wrong; it doesn’t change us, not completely. I’m still here, underneath this body that will hardly listen to me, that makes it impossible for me to save my friends.

There’s silence in the hangar, save the dull crackle of the flames consuming Buck’s jet.

Sam gives a silent signal, and eight of his officials head to the left and right sides of the hangar, where Dean and Crowley and Marshall are stacking the explosives. The eight officials slip around the pods until they’re out of sight.

A laser flashes between some of the pods, coming from where the officials must be standing, followed by several more. A loud cry tells me a rebel has been wounded. A man—either Darren or the man from Karum.

Three of the officials reach the doors at the far side of the hangar. Two of them push through the doors into the main corridor of the facility, to make sure the other rooms are empty. The third man remains standing in front of the doors, his gun cocked and ready.

We have my friends surrounded.

“We didn’t come here to harm you or anyone in this facility,” Sam says, taking another step forward.

Yes, you did, you liar.

“We came because you’re in danger,” Sam says. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s a fleet of ships from the distant planet Marden headed our way. They’ll be here within a day or two. Commander Charlie has called for the transfer of all his citizens belowground to ensure their safety.”

Not all his citizens. No one in the work camps will be saved; they’ll be slaughtered.

Liar, liar, liar.

“All I need is for you to come quietly,” Sam says, “and you can join your friends in the comforts of the Core.”

More silence.

I want to shoot Sam. I can make my hands lift my gun, I’m sure of it, but I don’t know if I can do it fast enough. Someone will see and shoot me first.

“Beechy, I’m telling the truth, aren’t I?” Sam asks.

“He’s telling the truth,” Beechy says, his empty eyes narrowed slightly. “Sandy, you need to come with us. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

Sandy steps out from her hiding spot, letting her gun clatter to the ground. She places both hands over her belly, as if two more inches of skin will keep her child safe, should a bullet fly her way.She looks from Beechy to me, searching our faces for something—a sign that we’re only pretending to be subdued.

I’m fighting it,
I want to tell her.
I’m trying.

The stoniness in her gaze tells me she doesn’t want to give up. But she has no other choice, if she wants to stay alive. Using the Davara jets to shoot us down was her best plan, and that failed.

“You have us, Sam,” she says. “Take us away from here, if that’s what my father wants.”

The other rebels slowly step out from where they’re hiding. Fiona, Uma, and Darren, who leans on the man from Karum. Darren was shot in the leg. He grits his teeth in pain, but his eyes are angry.

They all drop their weapons, surrendering.

Officials move forward to pick them up. I can’t see Sam’s mouth under his helmet, but I’m sure he looks smug.

“Beechy, help your wife into one of the ships,” he says.

Beechy slips his gun into his holster and walks forward. Sandy’s cool exterior cracks as he nears her, as she takes in the fogginess in his eyes.

“Oh, Beechy,” she whispers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the slightest movement to the right of our group. Buck is stirring on the floor. The flames are eating at his legs, but he is still alive—barely.

His hand slips into his holster.

“It’s going to be okay,” Beechy says, moving behind Sandy to grasp her shoulders.

She blinks tears out of her eyes, but lets him push her ahead of him toward one of the X-wings. They pass in front of Skylar, who has shifted and is standing to the right of Sam.

Buck removes his gun and aims at Skylar, his jaw twitching in anger, his bloodshot eyes barely focusing.

I realize what’s going to happen too late.

I open my mouth to yell, “Buck, no!”

But he’s already squeezed the trigger. A gunshot rings out.

32

Time seems to slow down to an infinite moment.

Sandy, not Skylar, stumbles. Her eyes widen in shock.

She lifts the hand covering her stomach, and blood seeps through her fingers.

“No!” Beechy yells.

His wife’s legs give out, but he catches hold of her. He cradles her in his arms.

“No, no, no,” he says over and over, his voice breaking more with every word.

Skylar pulls her gun out and moves around the two of them to get a clear shot at Buck’s head. Her hand doesn’t falter this time. Buck’s body twitches and falls still.

My ears ring as if Beechy is still screaming, but I’m pretty sure it’s all in my head. Rage fills my body, streaming through my veins.

Skylar should’ve been hit, not Sandy. She’s the one who betrayed us. I should’ve shot her back in the Core, when I had the chance. Then Buck wouldn’t have tried to hurt her, and Sandy wouldn’t be lying in Beechy’s arms bleeding out her stomach.

Too many of my friends have been hurt right in front of me, whether by my hands or someone else’s.

Enough.

Enough.

Enough.

“She needs a doctor!” Beechy says, his voice husky with worry.

“I can help,” Uma says, hurrying forward. But a guard grabs her arm to stop her.

“Get Sandy on a ship,” Sam says, not even looking at Uma. “There’s a medic back at the hovercraft. He can stabilize her until we get her to the Core.”

“She’s not going to the Core,” Beechy says. “We have a medical bay here.”

Sam marches over to him, lifting his gun. “I said put her on a ship. That’s an
order
.”

I’m still gripping my own gun. I can still use it.

Sam’s back is to me, protected by armor. But there’s a weak place where his helmet attaches to the neckpiece of his uniform. I have the perfect shot.

“I’m not obeying your orders anymore,” Beechy says.

Now—now—do it now.

“You will obey or I will shoot you,” Sam says, venom in his voice.

Fear makes my palms sweaty. The fear that has weakened me every time I’ve been about to shoot someone, making me pull the trigger when I didn’t want to hurt anyone, or holding me back when I needed to protect myself.

I shove the fear aside and let my anger against Skylar and Sam and Charlie and everyone who has ever hurt me or made me hurt someone else consume me instead.

I won’t let anyone control me any longer. I am the only one who can decide what my hands will do.

“You won’t shoot me,” Beechy says. “Commander Charlie told you to return my wife and me safely to the Core, and you won’t disobey a direct order. You do everything your commander tells you without questioning, and that makes you a bad leader.”

Sam cocks his gun, letting out a growl of frustration. “You’re wrong.”

His back is to me, and he is distracted. I have to do it now.

My feet move toward Sam. I lift my gun. I squeeze the trigger.

Something hits my arm and knocks off my aim. A laser—one of the officials shot me.

The pain spreads like heat through my arm, but I ignore it as best I can. I will not let anything stop me from killing Sam.

I fix my aim and squeeze the trigger again.

The yell that comes from Sam tells me I hit him. I don’t know where.

Another laser flies at me, forcing me to duck. I shield my head, wincing as I remember my arm was shot.

Sam staggers across the way. My laser seared the spot above his right boot, on the back of his leg. Not a killing shot, but better than nothing.

Relief floods through me, bubbling up into laughter. I controlled my hands. I shot him.

Beechy lets go of Sandy. He grabs Sam’s arm and twists the gun out of his grip.

He is free of the serum, at last.

And so am I.

The nearest official comes at me, to secure me and take my weapon. I put myself back in the training room with Colonel Parker and remember what he taught me during our sparring lesson:
Set high, strike low
.

I switch my gun to my uninjured left hand and aim at the official’s neck, as if I’m going to strike him there. He reaches for my arm, but I cut low at the last second and aim the copper at his abdomen, squeezing the trigger.

The laser doesn’t penetrate his armor, but it hits him hard enough to knock the breath out of him, giving me the moment I need to fire another shot at the weaker spot between his helmet and uniform. That one draws blood. He staggers into me.

A laser skims past my left ear. The other officials are shooting at me.

I grab the first official’s body and push him in front of me, using him as a shield. But I’m surrounded. I can’t possibly shoot all Sam’s men, or avoid their gunfire.

This is it. I’m done for.

BOOM!

A chunk of the wall to my right explodes. The door to the locker room turns to shards that fly everywhere, coating the air with dust and debris.

I duck and let go of the official. This can’t be happening. The explosives should not be going off yet. Someone was supposed to set their timers so Sam and his crew would’ve already cleared the hangar.

Either the packages are more unstable than he expected, or someone disobeyed his orders and set the timers early. Someone who either wanted to give us rebels a chance to escape, or make sure all of us went down with the hangar.

“Abort the mission!” Sam yells.