The Offering Read online

  I look to Max again. He nods.

  I continue. “Nathan Burke captured Dylan and dragged him into an underground building. My father found me and tried to convince me to leave but when I told him about Dylan…” I glance up and panic when I don’t see Dylan in the doorway anymore. My eyes dart across the room until I find him taking a seat. I relax a little letting the warmth of his gaze steady me. “We went underground to pursue them. I heard shouting and started running. By the time I got to Dylan, my dad was no longer with me.”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat blinking back the welling tears.

  “When Dylan and I finally found my father again he was face to face with Nathan.” I feel my face contort as the story becomes harder to keep saying aloud. I picture the room, remember the looks on both their faces. The hatred in Nathan’s eyes. And everything that happened next. “Nathan fired a shot. Two actually.”

  The memory takes my breath away. I focus on a crack where the flooring has been scraped and pulled open and on the years’ worth of dirt packed into the split. Anything to replace the horrible pictures flashing through my mind.

  A tear tumbles down my cheek. “My father…” My voice comes out thick with emotion. Pain. Grief. Regret. “He stepped into the path and took the bullets in his chest.” I wipe the moisture off my face. “He saved us,” I whisper.

  I blink rapidly, glancing around the room at all the sad faces. Well, they’re not all sad. Some look angry. I turn my eyes back to the floor where no one’s judging me.

  “What happened next?” Henry prompts.

  I grit my teeth. Out of everything that happened two nights ago this is the only thing I don’t regret on some level. And that scares me. I look up, look Henry right in the eyes. “I shot Nathan.”

  His brows shoot up, stunned by my apparent shift in demeanor.

  “So what does that mean?” someone asks from across the room.

  “Is he dead?” asks another.

  “He could still be alive,” a man grouches.

  “I fired at least eight rounds,” I say, successfully silencing the naysayers. “Eight rounds and none of them missed. I heard him gasping for breath. Saw the blood pouring from his body.”

  I take a deep breath. There’s a reprieve from my grief at the mention of Nathan’s death, making room for something else. Satisfaction.

  “Nathan is dead,” I say, knowing that’s what they really wanted to know when they asked me to speak in this meeting. Having dragged my father’s memory out in the open and laid it bare, I decide I’m done talking. I slink to the empty seat next to Dylan in the back, lowering my eyes again to the floor.

  People begin to speak and I tune them out—exhausted, bitter, and wanting very much to leave this room and not come back.

  I’m staring at the floor, drained and gripping Dylan’s steady hand when something catches my attention.

  “Soon. I’d like to be out within forty-eight hours,” Henry says. Someone grumbles across the room and Henry addresses the man. “Pardon me?”

  Currently, Henry and Karen are equals, co-leaders of the Mercy colony, but I wonder for a moment if Henry might replace my father.

  A man with shoulder-length brown hair and a button-up shirt stands and glares at me before directing his attention to Henry. “I said this was a mistake. We lost too many people and now we’re losing one of our colonies. The crops, the housing.”

  “Alder,” Henry begins, sucking a breath through his teeth. I don’t think he likes this guy. “One hundred ninety-six. That’s how many people we rescued.”

  Alder squeezes his fists in the space in front of him like he’s dying to punch something. “We picked a fight with the biggest enemy we have. We both know it’s not over.”

  Henry slams his fist on the table in front of him. “A hundred ninety-six!” he shouts, quieting all the rustling in the room. “A hundred and ninety-six innocent souls! How can you question that, Alder? How can any of you?”

  He makes eye contact with whoever will look at him. Shame colors a few faces red, the ones tilted toward the floor, unwilling to face him. I’ve never seen Henry express so much emotion so I’m just as stunned as everyone else. He commands the room but only about half the crowd seems to respect him. Not long ago, it was my father standing there. He had everyone in the palm of his hand. All of them.

  “We’ll continue our plans to evacuate Mercy. What’s done is done.” Henry’s voice has regained the calm and flatness that I remember so well from when he interrogated me. “We have suffered a great loss, and I know we all feel the pang from Anthony’s death, but we cannot allow a moment of regret or self-pity. We simply do not have the time to waste on it. Thank you for coming.” Hearing my father’s name, a subtle confirmation of his death, causes my chest to tighten.

  Henry turns on his heel and heads for the door, and it appears the meeting is over. But I still have unanswered questions. “Wait. What about The City? They asked for help, are we sending someone?”

  “Kid, we got bigger problems,” Alder says, his eyes boring into me with hatred. Even though my face gets hot and I instinctively want to withdraw and hang my head, I don’t look away … because deep down I know I deserve his animosity. I got my father killed. If I hadn’t hesitated to shoot Nathan, Dad would still be alive.

  “So, that’s it?” I ask Henry. He’s the one I want to hear it from. “The City isn’t a part of Refuge—I get that—but you trade with them. They’re allies, right?”

  Henry’s face falls a little and he shakes his head, leaving the room.

  I jump up from my chair and hobble after him. He’s halfway down the hall before I get close enough to call out. “Henry! I’m not suggesting military action. Why can’t we just send someone to check on them? I can go too.”

  Henry stops with his back to me, his voice faltering. “We’ve already started a war. Is that not enough?”

  My voice comes out almost in a whisper. “I just need to know they’re okay.”

  “If who’s okay?” Dylan asks. I glance up at him holding my crutches. I take them without waiting for him to insist.

  Henry inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment he drops his hand abruptly, letting it fall into a fist at his side. “I’m doing my best here,” he says, with a hint of desperation. He pauses for a moment then bolts outside, and this time I don’t follow.

  “If who’s okay?” Dylan asks again. He already knows the answer. I can tell because he isn’t touching me. Tyce.

  “We should make sure they remove the chips from the women before we relocate,” I say. “Antius will track us to Wisdom.”

  Dylan takes a steady breath. “I’ve discussed it with Karen. We’ll get it taken care of. Why don’t you lie down for a bit? Rest your leg.”

  Dylan helps me to my dad’s room and onto the bed. He leans my crutches against the nightstand and kneels on the floor beside me. Propping his elbows on the mattress, he covers his face, rubbing out the tension built up over the course of the morning.

  I pull his hands back so I can see his face. I notice now just how tired he looks. His eyes are puffy, slightly reddened. “What’s wrong?”

  He smiles but it’s forced. His eyes are jaded, sad even. “I want you to rest. And heal. You can’t be worried about everyone else right now.”

  “Dylan, I’m fine.” I reach out and touch his hand.

  He exhales. “I don’t buy that. And I’m not talking about your leg.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I ask, gripping his hand and searching his eyes for an answer.

  “Say whatever you want.” His thumb grazes the back of my hand. “Or kick and scream if you need to. Whatever it takes to ease your pain because it’s breaking my heart.”

  A pang strikes my gut and I fight back a fresh wave of tears. One manages to escape, drifting down my cheek until Dylan’s thumb catches it and wipes it away. I blink several times, forcing myself not to let another drop fall.

  I bury my face in my
elbow. I don’t know what he wants from me. Ease my pain? It’s only been two days. I won’t heal anytime soon, if at all. It hurts too much. It’s a pressure building in my chest, a weight on my shoulders. If I just push it away I can deal with it later, in a better frame of mind when everything isn’t so raw. Then I’ll figure out how to mourn my father. I’ve already opened the wound. I have no desire to continue prodding it. It would just keep bleeding.

  Dylan cups my face in both of his hands, “It will get better.”

  I nod, closing my eyes. Dylan brushes his lips across mine, feather light, then pulls away. “Get some rest. I’m going to go help Karen for a bit.”

  “Shouldn’t you be resting, too?” I mutter. He kisses me again, but this time I grab him before he can pull away. I hold onto the back of his neck while I press my lips against his. He breathes a long inhale before pulling me into a tight embrace against his chest. I hug him tighter, careful not to touch the wound on his back.

  He shifts his weight into me, pushing me flat on my back while he hovers over my chest, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “I love you so much. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

  He starts to pull away but I squeeze harder. If I told him I didn’t want to be alone and asked him to stay he probably would, but I know he’s under a lot of pressure. I don’t want to add to it with my pity party.

  He smiles against my neck then delivers a small peck to my collarbone before prying himself from my grip. He’s stronger than me and I secretly love when he demonstrates it. He’s a genius, too, and that combined with his physical capability is a beautiful juxtaposition.

  “Can I ask you something?” I mumble.

  “Of course,” he says.

  “You lost your father too. Is there any part of you that mourns him?” It’s a strange question considering I’m the one who shot Nathan. I’m not even sure why I asked.

  He shakes his head no, all humor gone now. “Have a good nap,” he tells me before shutting the door behind him.

  Napping is the one thing I don’t do. I agonize. I replay my father’s final moments. The gunshots that took him from me. The sound of him struggling to breathe.

  I try to picture where we went wrong in the battle, if we did enough. If Antius is going to come after us. I wonder where they’ll get their food now that they can’t get it from Mercy.

  After at least an hour of self-torture has passed, I finally start to doze off. My eyes have just fallen closed when the door bursts open, Dylan and Karen rush in. I sit up in bed, panicked by the worry in their faces.

  Chapter Two

  The three of us rush back to the medical building, past all the sick women. Karen ushers me to a smaller room where Nicolette, the doctor who checked me out when I first arrived in Mercy, meets us at the door. In seconds I’m seated on a cold metal table and Nicolette cuts off the bandage on my leg. She touches the skin around my wounds then leans in to get a whiff. With no explanation from anyone I start to get impatient, but I don’t have time to say so before Nicolette is in my face checking my temperature, my pupils, and my throat.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, looking at Dylan.

  After a moment, Nicolette’s shoulders relax and she exhales. “I think she’s fine.”

  “Will someone please tell me what is going on?”

  She and Karen exchange a look.

  “Some of the wounded, they’re getting infections. We’re trying our best to contain it,” Karen says.

  I reach for Dylan, but he senses my worry. “I’m fine,” he assures me.

  “Oh, thank God.” I adjust myself on the table so Nicolette can re-wrap my leg. “So, how bad is it? Can you help them?”

  “We’re running low on antibiotics and we can’t get any more.” Nicolette doesn’t look up from my leg.

  “What can we do?”

  She wipes her forehead with her long sleeve. She looks exhausted. “We can reach out to Delilah. I’ve heard they brew all-natural remedies. It’s hokey, but it might be our only option. Some of their fruits are supposed to boost the immune system as well.”

  “What about the women? Any ideas why they aren’t getting better?”

  “Not yet.” Nicolette leaves without another word.

  Karen pats my knee before she leaves the room behind Nicolette. I start for the door. This time I stop after a few steps and take the stupid crutches from Dylan saving him the trouble of insisting I use them.

  “Wait,” he says, sliding the door closed. “Nicolette is afraid to remove the chips. If there’s a potential for infection she doesn’t want to operate.”

  “We can’t take them to Wisdom with trackers in their necks!”

  “We might have to stay longer.”

  I shake my head, at a loss. “This is a mess.”

  I push through the door and stop short when I notice a woman kneeling in the floor, vomiting into a pot. Another woman stands behind her holding her hair, and a small crowd watches nearby. They all seem to notice me at the same time, their expressions becoming hostile once they recognize me. I’m not sure exactly what I expected but it certainly wasn’t anger.

  The sick woman on the floor looks up at me through bloodshot eyes. “You should’ve left us alone.” Another wave of nausea takes her over and I rush for the door before anyone can say another word to me. Halfway to the exit I lift the crutches and jog the rest of the way outside, regretting it as soon as the pain in my leg brings me to my knees on the grass.

  Footsteps crunch in my direction. When I realize the person is actually approaching me, I look up. “The prisoner is asking for you,” Max says.

  Suddenly embarrassed, I glance around the colony. The people across the lawn pumping water from the well don’t notice me, nor do the men near the guard tower. Good. I take a deep breath, trying to push the images of the suffering women out of my head.

  “Are you okay?” Dylan asks, kneeling beside me.

  I lick my lips and take his hand, letting him haul me to my feet.

  Max leads the way into a building I haven’t been to before. It’s smaller, all gray cement, inside and out. Pipes hang from the ceiling and run the length of the hallway. The air in here feels different. He stops before the doorway of a small room where they’re keeping her. It’s a dank, colorless space that smells rotten and soiled.

  “Captain,” I mumble when I see Marsiana on the floor, handcuffed to a pipe. I flinch when I see her disheveled state. My training captain, my former roommate, and the person who helped me and Dylan escape Antius in the final throes of battle. Now her dark matted hair falls into her sallow face making her look weaker than I ever thought she could be. She used to be someone I looked up to but now I’m sad for her.

  She doesn’t look hurt, at least not on her face, but she looks exhausted. Maybe sick. She sees me but she’s completely unreadable. They put her here because she was Antius military. I’m sure she’ll be interrogated like Dylan and I were, and hopefully she’ll be given a chance to prove herself but that’s out of my control.

  “Hey,” she whispers.

  I kneel beside her. “How are you?”

  She wiggles her wrists in the metal cuffs showing me where the skin has rubbed raw.

  “Have you eaten? Are you drinking water?” I look over my shoulder at Dylan and Max in the doorway, then back to Marsiana.

  “Yes. They aren’t treating my infection though.” Her eyes break their front just a little, and there’s a glimpse of desperation, but only for a moment.

  “You’re wounded?”

  She nods toward her hip. I pull up her shirt, revealing a bandage on her side just above her pants. I peek behind the bandage and find a gash full of off-white pus surrounded by red, puffy skin. I suppress a gasp.

  “Are you talking to the interrogators? Marsi, you have to answer their questions, okay?”

  Marsiana nods as I press the bandage back in place.

  “I’ll see what I can do, okay?” I pat her shoulder and she winces, but gives me
a small nod.

  I hobble to the doorway, snatch my crutches from Dylan and march down the hall a little. I stop and wait for Max to follow and when the door shuts I whip around to face him.

  “You’re not even trying to keep her comfortable. She’s got food dried around her mouth and all down her shirt.”

  “We’re doing the best we can, but she’s a prisoner,” he says firmly.

  “Can you at least take off one of her cuffs and let her feed herself properly?”

  Max shifts his weight. “Cori, this isn’t your rodeo, kiddo.”

  Exhaling for a long beat I try to find the right words. He’s right. It’s not my call. “For what it’s worth, I trust her.”

  “You know we’d be treating her wounds if we could.” Something flits across his expression and leaves just as quickly. Sadness maybe.

  “I know,” I say, shaking my head. I force my voice to come out softer. “Just let her feed herself. And let me give her a bath.”

  “Fine,” he mumbles, looking to Dylan, who hasn’t said a word. “But you should know she’s not saying anything. So, if we’re going to do this your way, you’d better get her talking. I’ll get Henry on board.”

  “Thank you.”

  I gather up the supplies for a sponge bath and head in to see Marsiana again.

  “There’s nothing we can do for your wounds right now,” I tell her, helping her out of her clothes. “You know the colonies used to get all their medicines from Antius. I’d say we’ve burned that bridge.”

  “I kn-know,” she says, shivering.

  I dip the rag in the bowl of warm soapy water and wring it out. I start with her face, wiping away the dirt that’s built up since the battle and the food on her chin.

  “Do you resent me for bringing you here?” I ask. Too quietly.