“There must be some way,” I’d said, but she shook her head.
“Only by blood,” she’d replied. “An Elemental’s blood is markedly different from that of a Mundane.” She’d left it at that, but her cold eyes told me that she’d have no qualms about slicing open a few friends while she identified her foes.
Once we were back at camp, my siblings and I headed down to the stream and followed it until it spilled into a waterfall—I would have liked to use this little excursion as an excuse for a bath, but Jerome was lingering downstream where he thought we couldn’t see him. We huddled close to the falling water, using the splashing sounds to muffle our conversation.
“Do you think he can do it?” I asked without preamble. If Mike Armstrong could dreamwalk, we were officially screwed.
“Doubt it,” Max replied. “As far as I know I’m the only Dreamwalker he ever captured, and he couldn’t figure out what made me tick. That’s why I lasted so long.”
“What about the real Elementals at the facility?” Sadie asked. “Shouldn’t someone help them?”
“How will we know who they are? You want to bleed them out like Aregonda suggested?” I countered, then I looked at Max. “Were there fake Elementals at the Institute?”
He shook his head. “Not where I was kept. This is a whole new batch of weird, even for me.”
“Great.” I leaned back against a tree and watched the darkening sky. Had we really been traipsing about with Lopez and Aregonda all day?
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I began. “We’re going to go back to the camp, get something to eat. We’re going to keep our eyes and ears open and learn everything we can about these people.”
“And then?” Max prompted.
“Then we’re going to figure out how to get the hell out of here.”
19
My siblings and I did have dinner with the resistance, which turned out to be a surprisingly tasty stew. Since the meat had boiled for the entire day, there was lots of protein-rich broth for Max to drink, and no one seemed to notice him mashing up the vegetables with his fork.
Another thing none of us asked was what sort of meat was in the stew. It tasted like beef, and that was good enough for me.
Once the three of us had finished, each having gulped down what seemed like a gallon of spring water, we crashed on the guest cots so conveniently placed inside Lopez’s tent. Someone had added a third, but I didn’t complain when Sadie lay down beside me, or when Max shoved his cot up against ours. Safety in numbers, you know.
The next morning, I woke to the heavenly scent of coffee. After I’d yawned and stretched, I sat up and saw that someone had brought in two—not one but two—pots of caffeinated bliss. Beside the pots were platters of bread and sausage, which I guessed was the resistance’s breakfast of champions. Lopez sat behind his desk, scribbling away.
After Sadie and I had visited our favorite bushes (gallon of water, you know), we each accepted a mug from Aregonda.
“Thank you,” I murmured, letting the warmth of the coffee seep into my cold fingers. I tried to affect the tin cup: it wavered a bit more than it had the day before, and I managed to dent the handle. Maybe Max was right about drinking lots of water to flush out the dampeners.
Speaking of Max, he picked that moment to reenter the tent. “Aregonda, a pot just for me?” he quipped as he grabbed a mug of coffee. “You shouldn’t have.”
Aregonda favored Max with a motherly smile, then Lopez quashed the moment.
“We have two disruptions planned today,” Lopez began, “and we are hoping that you three would like to accompany us.”
“Disruptions?” Max repeated, turning around to face Lopez. “Exactly what are you planning to disrupt?”
“We have a few options,” Lopez replied. “There is a political rally nearby, and there is a university where Armstrong will be speaking about an hour’s drive away. Making our presence known at either location will greatly upset the Peacekeepers.”
“Pissing them off is what I live for,” Max said. “What’s the intel?”
Lopez smiled, more a baring of teeth than an expression of happiness. “Good.” Lopez beckoned us forward, shoved some paperwork around on his desk, then pushed two folders toward us.
“And these are?” I asked, since Max and Sadie were content to remain silent.
“We have two separate raids planned,” Lopez replied. “Mike Armstrong is on the campaign trail, and today he will be speaking at Northeastern University.” Lopez opened one of the folders and handed us a flyer for the appearance. I remembered that Juliana had gone to Northeastern to study psychology. When she’d gotten her acceptance letter I was so happy for her—now, I wondered if Northeastern was just another front for Peacekeeper operations.