Exposure (The Fringe Book 2) Page 4

  “Come on.”

  Forcing my feet to move, I follow Eli away from the compound. I try to get my bearings, but everything I learned in training seems to have evaporated from my mind.

  Then I glance behind me and trip over my own feet. The compound looks enormous. Aside from pictures and drawings in my compound history textbooks, I’ve never really seen what it looks like from the outside. Now that I have, I’m amazed that such a structure could be manmade.

  With the sunlight reflecting off thousands of ceiling-to-floor windows, it looks like a tall silvery box planted right in the middle of hell.

  It’s strange to think about all the people working inside to keep the place functioning. They don’t know that they only do what they do because Constance made it that way. Hardly any of them can comprehend what lies beyond the thick layer of glass that separates them from the drifters.

  The Fringe is quiet except for the steady shuffle of our feet and the whistle of the wind. I wish Eli would say something. The silence only heightens my paranoia.

  The farther we walk, the hotter I get. I start to unsnap my long-sleeve overshirt, but Eli glances over his shoulder and shakes his head.

  “Keep that on as long as you can. Your skin isn’t used to the sun. You’re going to burn.”

  “I use the UV rooms all the time.”

  “It’s not the same. Those are designed to give you a short, healthy dose of ultraviolet light.” He reaches into his belt and withdraws a small tube. “Put this on your face. Otherwise, you’re going to be red and crispy tonight.”

  His choice of words is a little alarming — particularly when the sun feels as though it could literally cook me alive. I take the tube and rub some of the thick white stuff on my exposed skin.

  When I hand it back to Eli, his hard look cracks, and he lets out a full-body laugh. The sound coming through his mic is jarring after the tense silence, and I freeze when he turns to face me.

  “Not like that.”

  Before I can react, he reaches out with both hands and cups my face in his rough palms. The skin-to-skin contact is shocking.

  His eyes crinkle in a slight smile as he rubs my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, blending in the white stuff. It’s such a dramatic change from serious, survivalist Eli that all I can do is stare as he touches my face.

  When he’s finished, he rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s still smiling. He turns back around and continues in the direction we were walking, and I can’t stop staring.

  What the hell was that all about? Eli hasn’t been subtle about distancing himself from me — even in training. I guess it takes a panic attack or the threat of sunburn for him to let himself act like a human being.

  I abruptly push the thoughts of Eli out of my head. With miles of desert ahead of us and an army of drifters waiting, Eli should be the last thing I’m thinking about.

  We walk for another ten minutes, and then Eli stops and flips on his interface to scan the terrain map. Standard protocol kicks in from training, and I pull up the image on my own interface.

  The map overtakes my field of vision, showing a simplified picture of the landscape around us. The image ripples like a sheet as my interface superimposes it over the actual desert.

  There are dozens of pulsating red dots on the ground around us. To my right, there’s a blinking green dot hovering over Eli’s head like a halo.

  We’ve reached the perimeter.

  “Remember, the red things are land mines,” says Eli.

  Even if I forgot everything else from training, there’s no way I could forget that detail.

  “Stay close.”

  I wait for him to move, but he seems to be steeling himself for something.

  “Harper, once we pass through here, all bets are off. I don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

  My heart speeds up, and I feel my palms start to sweat. “I know.”

  “Are you ready?”

  I nod and fall into step right beside him.

  It’s reassuring to be able to see the land mines myself, but Eli still watches me as we chart a careful course around the blinking red dots. When we reach two mines that are clustered together, Eli draws an arm around my shoulders and guides me around them.

  With every passing second, my breathing becomes heavier and more labored. Eli still hasn’t released me, and part of me wonders if he’s as scared as I am.

  It’s strange. I didn’t think Eli was afraid of anything, but his posture changes as soon as we clear the mines.

  Instead of walking with his back ramrod straight as he usually does, he’s fallen into his fighting stance. His shoulders are hunched — every muscle poised for action — and his head is moving on a swivel.

  If a drifter materialized out of thin air and charged toward us, I have no doubts that Eli would pounce and break his neck with his bare hands.

  “Stay alert,” he murmurs.

  As if I could be anything else. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I keep wiping my sweaty palms on my pants to maintain a strong grip on my gun.

  Eli’s used to this, and I envy the self-assurance that years of experience have given him. No amount of training could have prepared me for the paralyzing fear, the overwhelming size of the Fringe, or the intense heat.

  Suddenly, my interface makes a sad beeping sound, and I almost have a heart attack.

  “What the —”

  “Comms are down,” mutters Eli. “It always happens right about here. We’re out of range.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “On the plus side, Constance can’t spy on us anymore.”

  I don’t find that thought as reassuring as Eli does. I hate the idea of not being able to message anyone, but really, we’re on our own out here no matter what.

  I can still make out the compound on the horizon, but it looks tiny. To anyone watching from the windows, we would have disappeared into thin air.

  Eli clicks his interface once and glances down at me. “Take a drink. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

  I reach behind me for the hose connected to my water pack, and as soon as I slurp down a few gulps, I realize how thirsty I am.

  After a few seconds, Eli nudges me. “Take it easy. That’s going to have to last until tomorrow.”

  I stop and focus on the horizon again.

  In the few seconds I’ve been preoccupied, a fuzzy shape has materialized in the distance.

  “Is that a town?”

  Eli’s jaw goes rigid. “Yep. Make sure you’re locked and loaded. I don’t know what we’re going to find here.”

  A jolt of fear shoots down my spine, but I try to mentally prepare myself.

  I’ve had training, I think. I know what to do.

  But my arms are stiff and tense, and my legs feel like jelly. I force myself to mimic Eli’s steady breathing to coax my body out of panic mode.

  In and out. In and out.

  I’m so focused on the town that I barely notice the rock formation looming on our left. It’s just part of the landscape — a crack in the otherwise flawless line where the sky meets the earth.

  But then, without warning, a gunshot ruptures the silence.

  four

  Eli

  My body reacts to the gunshots before my brain has time to process what’s happening.

  Adrenaline spills into my bloodstream. My senses sharpen, and my heart kicks into overdrive.

  I grab Harper around the shoulders and yank her into a crouch. Her face is white and terrified behind her mask, eyes searching for the source of the gunshots.

  “Run!” I croak.

  She runs. Her movements are clumsy from shock and terror, so I reach out and grab hold of her arm. My legs burn as I charge toward the town, pulling Harper with me.

  We’re still a few hundred yards away from the nearest building, but it’s our only chance. I can’t make out the sniper taking cover behind the rock formation. And since he got the jump on us, there’s no way I can take him out before he hits
us. He had the advantage of surprise, which is everything on the Fringe.

  I push harder. I’m running at a full-out sprint, and miraculously, Harper is keeping up. I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that I’m practically ripping her arm out of its socket, but she’s fast.

  Another gunshot shatters my eardrums, but whoever is shooting is no marksman.

  We’re getting closer to the town. I can make out the faded signs and the lumpy shapes of abandoned cars.

  Behind me, Harper staggers, and the arm I’m pulling on goes slack.

  I panic. Is she hit?

  She’s still moving — half running, half falling. I don’t see blood. She must have tripped, but there’s no time to feel relief.

  In one quick motion, I yank her upright, and we’re moving again.

  Another shooter has joined in the game, and I hear a bullet whizz past my head. He knows what he’s doing.

  I consider returning fire, but I know it won’t do any good. I still can’t see them through the glare, but they have a clear view of us.

  So close. I can read the sign for Dave’s Diner in peeling red letters: Steak. Pizza. Hamburgers.

  I stumble on a protruding rock, and my dosimeter flies off my belt. It skids along the ground in front of us, and then the ground breaks in two.

  The explosion throws me backward, and pain shoots up my spine as the force of the blow slams me into the ground.

  Suddenly everything is upside down. My ears are ringing. My entire body is burning in pain, but all my limbs are still intact.

  I roll over onto my side, looking around desperately, but I can’t see anything through the cloud of dust. It stings my eyes, so I clamp them shut and start feeling around.

  “Harper!” I yell.

  Dust coats my throat, and I choke on her name again.

  Nothing.

  “Harper!”

  Where is she? She can’t be dead. She can’t be —

  Then I hear a cough, and she says something I can’t quite make out. Gratitude rushes through me at the sound of her hoarse voice.

  Fumbling around in the dirt beside me, I find her hand. She squeezes back, and I stagger to my feet and pull her up.

  She’s choking on a cough, but if she’s standing, it must mean she still has two legs.

  Now that I’m upright, I realize how dizzy and sick I feel. My heart is pounding, and every cell in my body is thrumming with nervous energy.

  As the ground in front of me moves in and out of focus, my eyes fall on a broken piece of plastic. It’s half-obscured by dirt, but I recognize it instantly as a piece of a compound land mine. My dosimeter must have triggered it when it hit the ground.

  If it hadn’t — if I’d triggered it instead — I would have gotten my legs blown off.

  I click my interface once, but it shows no buried land mines in the area. The drifters must have figured out how to keep us from tracking them.

  As the dust clears, I pull Harper toward the buildings. There’s an overgrowth of brush along the road, and it snags at my ankles and almost makes me lose my footing.

  I trip up the curb and yank Harper behind the first building I see, flattening my body against the rough brick as I collect my breath.

  The shots have stopped, but it won’t be long before the drifters realize their mine didn’t finish us off. I give myself two seconds to breathe and then raise my rifle and take a quick scan of our surroundings.

  The buildings are scattered at random intervals out here, growing into denser clusters of restaurants and businesses near the center of town. A bent street sign sticking out of the concrete reads “Shell Street,” but that doesn’t help me any.

  I’d bet money that there are drifters hiding out here, but they’re waiting for us to show ourselves first.

  Harper’s breath is coming in sharp gasps, but she’s still alert enough to raise her rifle and cover me as I check around the corner.

  Seeing no movement, I glance over and motion for her to follow. Her eyes are wide with shock, but she’s holding it together. We make our way from one building to another, stopping to clear every street corner.

  In its day, this was probably the bad part of town. We pass a dilapidated Quik Loans place, a crummy mini mart, and a pawn shop that’s been completely looted.

  Most of the windows facing the road are broken, and every shadow of a cash register or shelf looks like a drifter. I don’t like the idea of taking cover on the ground level, so I head for a two-story motel down the street.

  The building looks deserted. The curtains are drawn over the grimy windows, and the faded teal doors give the place a tacky retro look. I shoot up to the rickety walkway and kick down the door closest to the stairs.

  I clear the room and pull Harper inside, securing the chain lock and the dead bolt.

  That’s when the weight of everything hits me: We were almost killed, and it was all my fault.

  I was so focused on prepping Harper to enter the town that I completely ignored the obvious threat. Of course the drifters would have lookouts stationed between the perimeter and the town. They know where we come from, and they know what we do to drifters who gather near settlements.

  Still panting, I turn my attention to Harper. She’s looking around the outdated motel room helplessly, as though she has no idea whether to feel relieved or scared shitless. I’ve never seen her so out of her element.

  “You okay?” I ask, undoing her mask.

  Stupid question. She just got shot at. Of course she isn’t okay.

  But Harper gives a shaky nod. She moves to sit down on the dusty bed, but I steer her away from the window and pull her down onto the floor against the wall. She’s breathing rapidly and looks too pale.

  Sitting down beside her, I pull the rucksack off her shoulder and check her over for injuries. Apart from a few cuts from flying debris, she’s otherwise unharmed — well, except for the obvious trauma. I can tell she’s in shock because she still hasn’t said a word.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Breathe.”

  Her wild eyes dart from the faded desert print hanging on the opposite wall to the gaudy teal-and-burgundy bedspread. She’s trying to ground herself by latching on to something physical, so I pull off my mask and meet her gaze.

  As soon as she transitions from panic mode to awareness, she snaps.

  Harper’s eyes crinkle closed, and when her head dips forward, something inside me shatters. I put an arm around her and draw her tightly against my side. She folds in on herself, trying to hide her silent tears, but I can feel the warm wetness against my neck.

  “Hey . . . hey. It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay. We made it.”

  I don’t know what I’m saying. Words are spilling out of my mouth, completely bypassing my brain. She’s not the first cadet to start crying after a traumatic experience like that, but I don’t see just another scared cadet. All I see is Harper.

  For once, she doesn’t try to act tough or push me away. If anything, the quaking in her body intensifies as she cries, and she lets herself fall into me. My chest aches, and I pull her closer even though I shouldn’t.

  I talk without thinking, spewing out nonsense. I think I say something about the land mine and tell her about my first deployment, but I’m not even listening to myself. It doesn’t matter what I say. She just needs a second to recover.

  Once she calms down, I take the opportunity to check my own body for injuries. I have a few cuts like Harper’s, but there’s no shrapnel embedded anywhere, and all my limbs still work.

  Running a hand through my dusty hair, I take a deep breath and try to gather my thoughts. We can’t stay here forever. The drifters will know they didn’t manage to finish us off, and they’ll come looking for us. I don’t know this town well, which puts us at a serious disadvantage.

  I click my interface and pull up the map Remy showed us back at the compound. It’s displaying a large concentration of drifters in this area, but he never warned us that there would be drifter
s stationed outside the town. I should have assumed there would be, but I was not on my A-game today.

  Suddenly, I remember we had a mission. We were supposed to clear the area and check out the drifters’ technology setup. And after their little trick with our land mines, even I’m curious about their capabilities.

  “Are you okay?” I ask again.

  “Yeah. I’m fine,” she says, pulling away from me and dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “What’s the plan?”

  I stare at her for a moment, amazed at how quickly she’s managed to pull herself together. “Uh . . . we need to clear the area. But take your time. They don’t know we’re here yet.”

  She fixes her ponytail with shaky hands and meets my gaze. “I’m all right.”

  “Are you sure? Because you were shot at and blown up —”

  “I said I’m fine, Eli,” she snaps. Her eyes have narrowed to match her scowl, and I see that familiar Harper toughness resurfacing.

  “Okay.”

  Chastised by my calm tone, she grimaces. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Thank you for getting me out of there. I’m okay. That was just —”

  She breaks off. Horrifying. Traumatic. Fucking crazy. Take your pick.

  Harper looks as though she might cry again, so I nod. “You’re handling this really well.”

  Her mouth tightens, but she pulls on a look I know means she’s all business again. “So how are we going to do this?”

  “How would you do this?” I ask. My instructor impulse is so automatic I don’t even think about it, and it’s strangely comforting when Harper rolls her eyes.

  “We need to maintain the element of surprise — take them out one by one without raising the alarm. That’s our only chance.”

  “Good. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” I beam the map to her interface and trace a route in the air with my finger so the line appears on her copy. “I say we take the road behind this place and work our way around the perimeter. They’ll be concentrated toward the center of town, but we should take out their lookouts first.”

  I pull out my handgun and the silencer. Harper’s eyes grow wide, and I know she’s contemplating the fact that she may actually have to kill someone today.