Chapter 5

"I don't care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual."

― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

Rose -

He knows who I am.

The retired captain leers down at me, "Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" he asks, closing the unit door behind him.

I clamber to my feet, wondering desperately what exactly this man thinks he knows. "I don't know what you mean," I insist, keeping my voice low. My head is pounding, and I worry fleetingly that I'll collapse back onto the floor but know that I can't afford any weakness right now.

He takes a step forward, his expression stormy. "Don't toy with me," he snarls. "I know what you are."

How...how would he be able to figure it out? Though even as I rack my brain for answers, I know the most likely explanation is that I'd gotten too drunk last night and said something to give myself away. But if that were the case, why aren't more people banging down my door?

Only one way to find out.

I take a centering breath and place one hand on my hip and offer him my usual vicious smile. "Well aren't you a smart boy." It feels strange to flex these particular muscles, but I have to hope that I haven't completely buried the old Rose Hathaway these past few months.

His nostrils flare at my words. "You bitch," he says, sounding disgusted.

The former captain takes another step toward me, looking neither enamored nor amused. I realize that in my current state - dirty, smelly, and ragged - my usual charms are probably not going to help me out of my predicament.

` "That's not a very nice thing to say to a lady," I tell him, inching a bit to the right.

He snorts. "You don't really look like much of a lady anymore, do you?"

"It's easier to move around this way," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. I offer up little kernels of truth, trying to distract him as I move closer to the door.

"I bet it is," his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I told the guard we were being too lenient with the incoming refugees, just letting them waltz in here without doing any kind of background investigation."

Rolan's words from the night before come rushing back to me - this man, the former provincial guard captain was forced to retire early, replaced by a younger NAAMA military officer.

"Did you ever consider that's the reason they fired you?" I ask sweetly.

His face reddens and I know I've struck a nerve. "I wasn't fired, the military is taking over more and more of the provincial guard everyday" he insists, sounding like a petulant child. "But when I turn you in, they'll welcome me back with open arms."

So that's what this is about - I'm a bargaining chip.

"I think you're overestimating my value," I tell him, hoping desperately that I'm right. He still hasn't revealed how much he knows about me.

The former captain shakes his head then smiles almost ruefully - as if we were sharing a secret between friends. "You know, I worried at first that you might just be a no one - another refugee on the run - maybe trying to pass as a man to protect yourself, but then I wondered why you would go to such lengths to get in good with Rolan. So, I asked him what he knew about you...and he told me that you came to him - begging for information on a man who'd gone missing in the southeastern Province." The mention of Dimitri makes me feel sick all over again. "You offered up information - valuable information on the Risk Prevention Department..."

He knows.

The door is still a few feet away.

The captain, distracted by the thrall of his own story, continues speaking - seeming not to notice my subtle movements. "Rolan thinks he's so smart, but he wasn't the one to figure it out - to realize who he was inviting into his unit every night for cards."

Deciding that I don't have much to lose at this point - I drop all pretenses of subtlety and cross the last few feet to the door of the unit - one hand poised on the knob. The captain's stormy gaze tracks me across the room, but he doesn't seem alarmed by my proximity to an exit.

"There's nowhere for you to go, Rose Hathaway," he says, and the triumph in his voice makes me want to dropkick him. Damn wanted posters.

I turn the lock and smile at the sound of the bolt sliding into place, "That goes for you too."

I lunge at him, but my movements are sluggish, and my body screams out in pain before I've even made contact with the captain. With only the benefit of surprise on my side, I catch him around the waist, and we crash to the floor. Black spots dance behind my eyes - the old Rose would have been able to incapacitate this man in a matter of seconds, but I've done terrible things to my body over the past two months.

He does his best to shove me off him, but I bring my knee up between his legs and watch his eyes go wide and hear the breath go out of him. We roll so that I'm braced on top of him, and I waste no time wrapping my battered hands around his throat. He writhes beneath me, his fingers clawing at my wrists. He manages to pry one hand away - I'm not strong enough to keep him down, I realize - panic surging through me. I slam his head against the hard unit floor, stunning him for a brief moment.

I do it again, and his movements grow slower.

With one last, sickening crack - his body goes completely limp.

My hands are shaking, and it takes more effort than it should to wrench them away from the captain's throat. Blood blooms out from beneath his head in a halo of crimson and I squeeze my eyes shut at the sight of it. Though his chest seems to be rising and falling, it's still possible that the captain might not wake up.

Now what?

I scramble to my feet, eyes darting around my barren unit - searching in vain for anything that might help me out of this situation, but I already know that there is nothing here.

"Damnit," I shout to the empty room, the heels of my hands pressed tightly to my eyes. My heart stutters in my chest like a failing engine.

If he wakes up - he'll give me away. If he doesn't…it will only be a matter of time before they look into his death and piece the puzzle together. The thought of being responsible for one more death makes me feel sick and revulsion for my own actions spreads like damp beneath my skin.

The captain lets out a groan - disappointment and relief wash over me in equal measure. I know what I have to do.

Under the cover of darkness, I drag the captain's limp form behind my row of housing units. He still hasn't regained consciousness and while I doubt being hauled through slush and dirt will do anything to help him, it's better than the alternative - better than what I have been trained to do in this situation.

It's times like these when I find myself oddly thankful for the Executor's technology ban. The darkness of the night seems endless, save for the dim light of the stars and the waning moon. It's barely enough to see by, but I still manage to prop the captain against the back wall of a random housing unit. His head, which has thankfully stopped bleeding, lulls to one side. This alley is a favorite haunt of Ronan's goonies, they're bound to find the captain and raise the alarm soon.

Regardless of what happens to him, I need to be gone by morning. I heave a deep sigh - whatever information Ronan has, I'll never know.

Stupid wanted posters, I grumble to myself once more. Glancing down at the captain, I decide that given the circumstances, I need his coat more than he does. It's standard issue provincial guard apparel - only barely up its task, but better than nothing.

To my delight, I find a small metal flask in the breast pocket, but when I unscrew the top to take a swig - the smell of stale alcohol fills my nostrils and makes me gag. Instead of downing it, I dump the contents onto the captain. Maybe now they'll assume whatever happened to him was the result of an angry, drunken former captain - maybe now they won't come after me.

Not with my luck, I think to myself, bending down to adjust the captain one more time.

A loud smacking sound suddenly fills the air and I have to clap one hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. I look up and find myself face to face with a girl. She peers out through a window I hadn't realized was positioned just above the captain's head. The curtains of the window now drawn back, her face and hands are pressed to the glass, and she's laughing - apparently amused with herself for having nearly given me a heart attack.

Had she seen me?

I turn to run, but she throws open the window, "Wait!" she hisses, poking her head out. Long dark hair falls like a sheet across her face, which is still set in a wide grin. "I wondered when I would see you again."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. "You...you did?" I ask, making sure to keep my voice low. I stare at her, trying to make out her features. She seems familiar...dark hair and eyes - but I can't place her.

"Didn't you wonder who dragged you out of Rolan's place last night?" she asks, still sounding bemused. When I don't respond, she continues in an excited whisper. "You were in a real bad state, passed out right at the table. Rolan had some of the guys toss you in a corner. I went to check on you - make sure you weren't dead. That's when I realized what you are."

She's speaking so quickly that I barely have time to register what she's said. First the captain, now this girl - how badly could I have screwed up to blow my entire cover in less than 24 hours?

"A girl!" she says, practically squealing. "And of course, I couldn't leave a passed out drunk girl in that place, so I brought you here."

It's a miracle that I don't collapse with relief. She doesn't know who I am - not entirely. She's just an innocent girl - one who tried to help me, and at least now I can account for my whereabouts last night. Though I'm still not entirely sure what to do.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks, tilting her head to one side - and that's when she sees him. She lets out a gasp.

"Shh!" I say, taking a step toward her. "It's nothing, I just - I needed some place to put him." I say, realizing only after I've spoken that I sound like an idiot.

Her eyes dart between me and the captain, looking momentarily unsure of what to say. "I was right," she finally says, hands now braced on the open windowsill.

"Right about what?" I ask, my voice suddenly hoarse.

"You're the kind of girl that attracts trouble - is that why you're pretending to be a man?"

"Kind of," I admit, sounding almost sheepish.

"Well don't just stand there," she says, pulling back from the window. She gestures at me to climb through the window after her.

My feet are rooted to the spot. "What?"

"I didn't go through the trouble of dragging you in here last night just to turn you away now." When I still don't move, she lets out a dramatic sigh. "Is this about my sister? Because I'm sorry if she scared you - I forgot to tell everyone about you and plus I think her hormones are driving her crazy right now."

"I can't do that," I say, shaking my head slowly. "I have to go"

She lets out a derisive laugh. "You're going to leave? Right now?"

My cheeks redden and I realize that she has a point. I have no idea where to go and this might be the only safe place in the compound for me to lay low and figure out my next move.

"You don't have to stay forever," she says, seeming to feel my indecision. "Just for tonight."

"Why?" I ask dumbly. "Why would you help me?"

The girl shrugs. "It's what we do."

The bottom floor of the unit looks and smells just as it did this morning, with crates of food stacked haphazardly all around me.

Sorry about the mess," says the girl, gesturing to the space. "We have a lot of mouths to feed."

I stand at the center of the room, shuffling my feet awkwardly. "It's fine," I tell her, not knowing what else to say.

"My name is Tori by the way," she says, moving toward the stairs at the far side of the room. "You don't have to tell me yours, but you do have to take a shower."

I glance down at my filthy clothes and try not to let my embarrassment burn through me.

"Tori?" a voice calls from upstairs. "Is that you?"

"Yeah!" she shouts. "And I've brought a friend."

My heart jumps into my throat at the sound of hurried footsteps, but before I can leap back out the window, a woman appears - leaning over the bannister to peer at Tori and me. She's older, but has a beautiful, kind-natured face.

"Ah," she says knowingly. "This must be our mysterious guest from this morning."

"It is." Tori beams at me, then back at the woman. "But you need to tell that crazy pregnant lady to put away her water pitcher."

The woman tuts. "Stop calling your sister crazy."

"I heard you!" a disembodied female voice calls. "And I'll kill you!"

"Stop threatening to kill your sister," the woman shouts back, her head turning toward the second floor. Then she turns back to me, offering a small smile. "Sorry about that - my girls are very...spirited, but I swear they love each other."

Something about the way these women talk and move, with such comfort and tenderness - despite the death threats, makes me want to cry. I can't explain the feeling, nor can I seem to shake it. Is this what families are supposed to be like?

I'm still standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with myself. Can I really stay here? What if it puts them in danger? But the idea of leaving, of making my way through the snow and darkness...just one night, I tell myself.

"I'm Lena," says the woman, striding the rest of the way down the stairs. "Why don't you come with me and I'll get you cleaned up. We don't have much, but it's better than nothing." She extends a hand to me, and without thinking - I let myself take it.

"That's a pretty nasty bruise you've got there," Lena says, dabbing gently at my eye with a cold cloth.

I sit perched on the edge of a porcelain tub, feeling like a helpless child as Lena tends to some of my fresher injuries. "I've had worse," I mumble, though even despite my tortured history with the RPD - I don't think I've ever felt worse than I do now.

"I thought you might say something like," she says with a sad sigh. "Some of these scars are...very old." She glances down at my hands, clenched tightly in my lap so that the white scars stand out. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you." And she sounds like she means it.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, and Lena pulls the cloth back to get a better look at me. "Why are you being so kind to me?"

Lena turns and tosses the cloth into the sink, then leans against it with her arms crossed. The bathroom is small, but clean and full of medical supplies.

"You're not the first girl we've taken in," she tells me solemnly. "Refugees - women mostly - pass through the compound all the time, and the provincial guard has a habit of beating them up when they don't get what they want."

The disgust in her voice is plane, but her dark eyes are still filled with compassion and sympathy as she watches me. I force my own eyes downward, unable to stand the feelings roiling within me. Lena and Tori and her sister seem to be doing everything they can to help people - complete strangers. Innocent women and girls are being taken advantage of, and instead of turning a blind eye as most would have done, they risk everything to help them - to help me.

But I am not innocent, and I am not helpless...I don't deserve their kindness.

I force myself to stand. "I'm sorry," I tell her, "I appreciate everything you've done for me, truly...but I can't stay here. I've put your family in enough danger already."

Thought Lena is smaller than I am, she still manages to bar my path. "I understand that you're scared. I might not know exactly what you've been through, but I do know what it's like to feel as if you are alone in this world. You think we don't know the risk we take by sheltering you and the women who came before you?"

I feel strangely small beneath her countenance. "I... I have something I need to do," I tell her, changing tactics.

"Whatever it is," she says, bracing her hands on her hips. "You won't get it done tonight. Now sit," she commands, pointing to the lip of the tub. Her tone is stern, and I find myself obeying without question.

Lena retrieves the cloth from the sink and resumes her work, crouching before me to wipe away crusted blood and dirt from my face and neck.

"Now what is so important that you would try to run out in the middle of the night to tend to it?" she asks, turning her attention to my ruined hands.

The scene feels so familiar to me...and it takes me a moment to realize why.

Dimitri.

After I'd attacked Cal in the resource distribution center and nearly destroyed my hands...he'd bandaged them up - he'd taken care of me. I think it was the first time anyone had ever touched me without intending to hurt me. The memory hits me like a blow.

"I'm looking for someone," I manage to choke out.

I know Lena can hear the pain in my voice and she looks for a moment as if she might wrap her arms around me, but she holds back - probably unsure of how I'd react to the physical contact.

"I know someone who might be able to help you," she tells me in a low voice.

I shake my head. "Not Rolan."

Her beautiful features twist themselves into a sneer at his name. "No, not Rolan," she repeats.

"Then who?"

Lena rises to her feet and hesitates before saying. "The people call him Zmey."

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Another update – than you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm really excited for the story to start picking up, I have so much planned – so many surprises! I hope you're all enjoying them so far!