Forged (12 page)

“WHAT IF YOU'D BEEN CAUGHT?”
Badger yells. “What if they'd traced the uniforms to Mercy? To
me
?”

We're back in Charlie's apartment above the bookshop, and this is our welcome.

“May?” Badger wheels on her. “So help me. I owe your ma for letting me run operations from the back room, but I don't owe
you
.” Badger holds a finger an inch from her nose. “If you took that boat even when I told you not to, I swear I'll—”

“It was me,” Bree says. “No one would have gone against your orders if I hadn't convinced them.”

“You stupid, idiotic—”

The second Badger's hand pinches her chin, I knock him away.

“Don't touch her,” I snap.

“I'll do whatever I damn well need to when my team ignores my orders.”

He advances again and this time I throw my palms into his chest. He draws his gun and I draw mine and in the blink of an eye we are standing in the middle of the sitting room, staring at each other's barrels.

“She is the only reason I'm alive,” I snap. “Her and this team.”

“It very well could have played out differently.”

“But it didn't, and you can't hold it against Bree—or any of them—for breaking me free and completing your damn mission in the process. Because that's what we did. I got all the info you were after and then some. We can figure out what to do with that together, or you can get the hell out.”

Badger regards me over the sight of his gun, eyes narrowed.

“Gray, I'm sorry we didn't come for you,” Adam says. “I really am. We couldn't risk it.”

“It's done, Adam,” I say. “The only thing we have control over is what happens next, and that's what I want to focus on.”

Despite the late hour, we end up at the kitchen table, our differences temporarily discarded. I recount my time at the Compound. Every last detail, from the intel the Order was after and the interrogation I endured, to the production lab
of limitless Forgeries and the way Harvey cracked and aided in my escape.

“It's worse than we thought,” Adam says. “If Frank has those numbers, if he's already manning his cities with them, we won't stand a chance.”

“Actually,” Harvey says, “that's not entirely true.” He upends his backpack on the table. A bunch of technical gear tumbles out, all secured in some sort of waterproof packaging.

“What's on the hard drives?” Clipper asks.

“Research, backup files, possibly your salvation.” This must be the plan Harvey alluded to, and the gear he went to retrieve after leaving me partially unbound in the interrogation room. “I'll need access to a computer, and a bit of time to dig through everything, but I'm hopeful. This idea I have . . . It just might . . . Well, I'd rather confirm it will work before I give everyone false hope.”

“Maybe Harvey can use your equipment?” Adam asks Badger.

“Sure.”

“Just like that?” Bree says, snapping her fingers. “We walk him right into our inner circle and give him access to anything he wants?”

“Come on, Bree,” Clipper says.

“I know you're happy about this, Clip, but he's still a
Forgery. One who was awfully quick to ditch his orders. It took Jackson forever to decide to help us, and Harvey turned like a switch was flipped.”

I open my mouth to argue but no words come. Is
this
why the Order didn't follow us from the Compound? Do they
want
Harvey to be here with us? The possibility that I have brought a spy—one of the most brilliant men I know—directly into the Expats' inner circle makes me shiver.

“I untied Gray in the interrogation lab,” Harvey says, glaring at Bree. “I told him how to get to the docks.”

“And maybe you'll tell the Order how to find us next,” she throws back.

“His tracker!” Adam says, jumping to his feet.

“I clipped him on the boat,” Clipper says. “Emma, too. Had to do it the old-fashioned way—knife and feel—but those chips are at the bottom of the Gulf.”

Harvey pulls the collar of his jacket aside to reveal bandages. I must have been on the deck when this happened. Throwing all my pain at Bree. Being horrible.

“See? He's clean,” Clipper says to Bree. “I'll keep an eye on him. I'll shadow him every second in the labs. I promise.”

“You make one suspicious move,” Bree says, leaning toward Harvey across the table, “and I will tear your fingernail off like you did to Gray. Only I won't stop at one. You hear me, Harvey?” Then she leans into my shoulder and
whispers, “We should keep an eye on him. Something's not right about this.”

I nod, hoping she's wrong.

But she's not wrong often. And this doesn't bode well.

Beneath the blanket of night, we relocate from the bookshop to a hotel on the outskirts of town. Even though Badger took care of Gage and the few men helping him, Adam feels like the shop is no longer safe.

“I don't get it,” I say to him as we walk. “We have Harvey. Why didn't they come after us?”

He shrugs. “They probably think he's dead—that we killed him and threw him overboard. That's where his tracker would have terminated.”

“They're too smart to not dig for confirmation. Why aren't the docks crawling with Order members?”

“We've had a delicate treaty with the East for a while now. They might overstep their bounds on the water, but for the most part, they respect the borders.”

“But
why
do they respect the borders? I feel like Frank could overrun us in a heartbeat.”

“If you believe what you hear around campfires and after a couple drinks,” Adam says, “Frank had a child with some lowly Union Central cook ages back. She was young, and so it was kept quiet, and they never married. When Frank's
methods in AmEast became too much for the girl, she apparently took their kid and fled west. Some people think Frank's afraid to aggressively attack because he's still hoping for a reunion with his son, and doesn't want to compromise the boy's safety. Well,
man
by now, given all the years that have passed.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I've never heard a thing about him having a son.”

“You wouldn't have. These are AmWest tales. People go to all sorts of extremes to set their minds at ease, even if it means inventing stories.”

“Do
you
think it's just a story?”

“Vik says the whole thing is laughable, and I agree.”

We slow outside the hotel. I spot the Expat emblem carved at the base of the establishment's doorframe, ragged enough that most wouldn't give it a second glance. Adam exchanges a few words with the owner, three fingers splayed across his chest in greeting, and secures us rooms for the night. He takes a single for himself, and pairs the rest of us off.

I follow Sammy into the room we'll be sharing.

It is small, with a lone window looking onto a dingy alley, but the bed is spacious. A thinning quilt of Expat colors is spread across it. There's a faint scent of inactivity—dust and old air—suggesting the place doesn't get many visitors.

“I feel like I'm in a cave,” Sammy says.

“With a bed?”

“I feel like I'm in a cozy but dimly lit cave.”

I drop my bag near the window, too exhausted to give him a courtesy laugh.

“Hey, about Blaine . . .”

“If you're going to say you're sorry or it's awful or you can't imagine, please don't.”

“I was going to offer to say a few words. And if you wanted, we could have a fire later. Sort of like we did after Burg.”

I find myself pulling him into a hug before I consciously decide to do it. He's slightly taller than Blaine and thinner in build, and the moment I notice these subtle differences, my eyes begin to burn.

I break away, mumble my thanks.

“We'll make them pay,” Sammy promises. “For this. For everything.”

IN THE MORNING, NOTHING HAS
changed. We're still in a dreary hotel room. The sun has still risen. Blaine is still dead.

I hear the sound of a running shower first—Sammy—followed by the bustle of people moving through the alley outside the window. I pull on some fresh clothes and, though I desperately need to wash the salt and sorrow off my body, I make for the hall.

Harvey and Clipper don't answer my knocks, so I try Adam.

“He's talking to the owner,” Bree says. She's standing in the doorway of her room, dressed in a clean tank that tucks into her belted and salt water–encrusted pants. Emma is behind her, a sweater pulled tightly around her torso. They
wear identical scowls. It makes me wonder if Emma was always good at scowling and I'm only just realizing it.

“We're supposed to do chores or something this morning,” Bree adds. “To pay for our rooms.”

“You're kidding.” If Adam thinks I'll be content to do chores—again, after everything—he's crazy.

“Did it sound like she was?” Emma snaps. “Do you think people say things without reason, Gray? Do things without motive?”

I pause, mouth open.

“I think I'll go check in with Adam,” Bree says. She glances over her shoulder as she retreats down the hall, looking both apologetic and amused at once.

“You're a selfish bastard, you know that?” Emma continues.

“Excuse me?”

“What happened with Craw was
none
of your business. You showed up when it was convenient for you and then had the nerve to act like you were the only one wronged, like I was horrible for moving on with my life. I thought you were dead, Gray. You left me alone. For months. And even still, I was ready to put it all behind me once I knew you were alive. I told Craw it was over that very day you showed up at my door, and then I was left behind
again
. Somehow, I
deserve to die for all that? For being human? You picked Blaine because he never
betrayed
you?”

“I picked Blaine because he was my brother.”

“You picked him because you're too selfish to forgive me and too afraid to face the world without him! I won't ever forgive you for that.”

“Good! I'll never forgive myself either. You think I wanted this, Emma? To have to choose? To lose someone?”

Her eyes have this quality to them I've never seen before: narrowed, vicious.

“It was easy, admit it. How could it be hard to toss aside the girl who didn't
wait
for you?”

“Stop it,” I snarl. “I forgave you ages ago. You had a second chance with the first guy you ever felt things for in Claysoot and as far as you knew, I was dead. Like you said, the only thing you are guilty of is being human. It took me a while to understand that, but I meant every word when I apologized to you back in December.”

“December?” Emma squints at me.

“She looked just like you, Emma. Everything was identical. Her voice and memories and the way she only smiled halfway. She was good with people, especially Aiden. That kid loved you. Sammy, too.”

“Sammy?” She takes a step away from me. “He loved . . .
Is that why he's been . . . ?”

“The point is I'm over it, Emma. I told your Forgery the same thing, and I'm sorry you're only just hearing it now.”

“You told her, and then she handed you to the Order? No wonder you picked Blaine.”

“Don't do that,” I say. “It was awful what happened on the Compound, but it had nothing to do with your Forgery, or Craw, or . . .” I sigh, defeated. “He was my brother, Emma. My twin.”

“And I didn't outrank him. I get it,” she says with a frown. “Good thing it wasn't Blaine and
her
in that room.” She tilts her head in the direction Bree walked off. “That would have been a fun choice, huh?”

“That's not fair, Emma.”

“Do you love her?” she asks. Her brows raise expectantly, and the thought of lying is exhausting. Emma is smart. She already sees the truth, or at least suspects it.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “I do.”

“Well, you thought you loved me once, too, so be careful.”

I've never seen this side of Emma before, so vindictive. The previous night resurfaces—throwing my words at Bree, wanting her to hurt because I did—and I decide this isn't really Emma. It's Emma overloaded with grief, drowning in it.

Maybe she's right to never forgive me. Maybe we're beyond mending. I firmly believe that time can change anything, but even a distant friendship between us seems impossible right now, and that's so tragically depressing I can feel the ache like a sunburn on my skin.

“I miss him,” I tell her. “I always will. But I
am
glad you're okay. I never wanted you hurt.”

“Somehow, it's really hard for me to believe that.”

She disappears into her room and slams the door.

It's an overcast morning, threatening storms by the taste of the air. I head for the bookshop, hoping to catch Harvey and Clipper at work. I'm still not sure what their plan is, but I know aiding them will be the best use of my time. Sammy was already hard at work coaxing Emma from her room when I bailed—not that I expected her to open the door for me—and Bree was bound to return with nothing but a list of chores.

The walk to the hotel seemed straightforward when Adam guided us last night, but as I try to backtrack under the weak morning sunlight, everything looks different. I'm about to scramble up a gutter and take the roofs toward shore when I spot a dark-suited figure crossing the alley ahead.

My heart rate spikes, and I dart behind the nearest
chimney, leaning into the building's facade. I wait a moment, then cautiously peer around the brick. No Order member. Just a man in a shabby jacket picking through an overflowing garbage can. I clench and unclench my fists. Everything with the Compound has me wound so tight that I see one Pine Ridge citizen wearing dark clothes and assume it's the enemy.

I shake my head and grab hold of a gutter. With the help of a windowsill and footholds in the adjacent chimney, I make my way to the roof. Then I hop a few narrow alleys, moving between buildings until I get my bearings. By the time I finally arrive at the bookshop it's drizzling.

Charlie is behind the counter, devouring another novel, and Badger is complaining about spies. He's now convinced that every single person working for him is one.

“Are Harvey and Clipper here?” I ask when Badger stops ranting long enough for me to get a word in.

“In the back.” Charlie shakes a thumb over his shoulder, barely glancing up from his read. A gunshot from somewhere in the streets shocks us both. “What the—?”

I race for the nearest window, but Badger's already claimed it. I dart to the second and battle Charlie for a vantage point.

A bit farther up the street, a small group of children stands rigid with shock. Two men tower over them, dressed
in dark uniforms, one with his weapon pointed toward the sky. There is no mistaking these men for civilians.

The Order member who fired the warning shot kicks the ball the children have been playing with. Their eyes follow it as it bounces down the street, but they don't dare move.

The Order member says something we can't hear.

The children stand a little taller.

Another demand is made, and when the children remain stoic, the nearest is backhanded. A man runs from a nearby building—maybe the child's father. He pulls the shaking boy to his feet, checks his face, then wheels on the Order members.

I want to tell him not to shout, but he already is. I want to warn him not to retaliate, but his fist is already flying.

A gun is drawn, a blast fired, and the man is on the ground.

The children stare. One starts to cry.

The sprinkling drizzle becomes a steady rain.

The Order member holds out a piece of paper and snarls a threat we can't make out. I know what's on that paper though. My face. Or Harvey's. Someone they want.

A trembling child raises a hand and points toward the bookshop.

We step away from the windows.

“Get them out,” Badger says, and draws his handgun.

“But the streets . . . ,” Charlie argues.

“The back exit. Then to May and Carl.”

Charlie drags me into the back room, bolting the door behind us.

“What's going on?” Harvey asks. He's sitting at Badger's desk with Clipper, a series of notebooks spread out around the computer.

“The Order's in town,” Charlie says. “We need to get you to the docks. May and Carl are pushing off for a few days of fishing, and you need to catch them before they do.”

He clears a bunch of water crates from the center of the room to reveal a trapdoor.

“What about the others?” I ask. “Bree and Sammy and—”

“I'll try to get word to them, but you guys have to move while you still have the chance.” Charlie yanks the trapdoor open. “Take the tunnel 'til it ends. The stairs there connect to Badger's house, which'll put you a block from the wharf.”

“We can't just leave the rest of the team.”

“You don't have a choice.”

Back in the bookshop, the muffled ding of the entrance bell sounds. Harvey grimaces, surveying his options: the storefront or the trapdoor. For a split second I think Bree might be right, that he's going to march to that hidden door and throw it open, show the Order exactly where we're hiding. But he only grabs Clipper by the cheeks and plants a
kiss on the boy's forehead.

“Go,” he says, pushing him toward the trapdoor. “We'll be right behind you.”

In the storefront, muffled arguing breaks out. Harvey shovels the notebooks and hard drives into his backpack.

We're in the dark tunnel and fleeing before we're able to hear how things unfold overhead.