Copper Veins(40)

“All right,” Max began. “Let’s assume we believe your sob story. This place is still a trap, and we need to leave, the sooner the better. Think the truck’s still there?”

He shook his head. “Not enough gas left,” he replied. “If we’re going, we should hoof it. My headquarters is a few days’ walk from here.”

We located some packs and raided the cave for useful supplies—flashlights, food and water, matches, and camping gear. We even found a few sets of socks and jackets, and a pair of slightly worn boots for Max. As Jerome and Max filled the canteens, Sadie and I divided up the food into four equal piles. After Max had drunk his jerky-cherry soup and made a few comments about my cooking being even worse than Mom’s, we set out.

Night was falling as we trudged into the trees. Max led the way in his new-to-him boots, following directions that Jerome had hastily sketched rather than one of the Peacekeeper-tainted maps. Before we left the cave, Max had whispered to me and Sadie that we should listen for road noise so we could use the mile markers to check Jerome’s map. Jerome brought up the rear of our pathetic parade and kept to himself.

“Can you feel anything yet?” Sadie asked me after we’d walked for a while.

I reached out with my ability and felt the tug of something metallic, though it remained out of my reach. “A bit. I don’t know if I still have a lot of the drugs left in me, or if there just isn’t much metal around.”

She nodded. “Me, too. I never thought I’d miss it so much.”

Before I could agree, Max called out, “Ladies and gent, we have a road.”

Cautiously, we stepped out of the trees and onto the pavement. The road stretched on into the darkness and appeared deserted. “Any idea where we are?” I asked.

“Nope,” Max replied. “Should be a mile marker coming up soon, though.”

I nodded, and soon enough we came upon a marker. Max read the marker and consulted Jerome’s directions, then he gave the barest of nods. While it didn’t prove that Jerome was on our side, at least this part of his story checked out.

We stopped for a few minutes, enjoying a snack of dried apricots, then we moved on. We followed the road, keeping to the shoulder and diving into the woods whenever we heard vehicles approaching. Luckily, traffic was pretty sparse on this stretch of road. Or maybe that was unlucky, who knew?

As we walked on, I kept my eyes peeled for oaks among the trees. There wasn’t a single one.

The four of us walked until sunrise, slept during the day, and resumed walking at dusk. Shortly before sunrise on our second day of walking, Jerome beckoned us toward what looked like a snarl of brambles.

“Trust me, this is the way,” he whispered. I was at the end of my rope when it came to trusting him, but when we got closer I noticed that a path snaked between the brambles. We followed him between the thorny bushes—a few steps later, we found ourselves at the edge of a clearing. In the dim light we could just make out a few tents and the dying embers of campfires. There wasn’t a permanent structure anywhere in view, unless you counted the trees. I didn’t.

“Here we are,” Jerome announced with a sweep of his hand.

“And we are where?” Max drawled. He was using the same technique I did—attempting to sound all badass and confident when in reality he didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on. “I thought we were going to resistance headquarters.”

“This is resistance headquarters,” Jerome replied.





17


I glanced between the few tents in the clearing and Jerome. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” he said, proud. He led us through the trees and toward the clearing. We saw a few bored sentries lurking in the underbrush, and I couldn’t tell if they weren’t intercepting us because they recognized Jerome or they just didn’t care. One appeared to be sleeping.

Resistance headquarters left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed. A few once-white tents formed a loose circle around the perimeter. In the center of the tents was an open space, and in addition to campfires I saw a brick hearth—okay, so there was one permanent structure. People wandered to and fro, going about day-to-day tasks and seeing to chores like cooking and laundry. The only weapon I saw was a knife being used to slice bread. All in all, this was a rather domestic resistance.

“This is your headquarters?” I repeated. “Resistance headquarters.”

“Heart of the operation,” Jerome replied.

Good gods, we were doomed. “Who is in charge here?” I asked.

“This way,” Jerome said. I wondered if he’d sussed out from my tone that I was unimpressed. “I’ll introduce you to Lopez.”