Page 96
“I didn’t think it was possible I could feel anything good ever again until I met you.”
“I tried.” I swallow back my tears. “I wanted to be what you need, and I wanted to be safe, but I can’t anymore. I’d rather die out there alone, in peace, than have any part in this anymore.”
“So we’ll leave, then.”
For a few seconds, I’m too stunned to speak. When I can finally get words out, I say, “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life killing people. It doesn’t bring peace.”
I sit up, wiping my tears. “I’ll be completely honest with you. I don’t know if leaving will ... change how I feel about you.”
A second of silence passes, and I’m afraid of what he’s going to say.
“It’s okay. Fucked up as it is, I had never hurt anyone before this. I never yelled at Layla or pressured her for sex. If she’d killed people, I wouldn’t see her the same way, either.”
“But I knew. I knew, and I agreed to join you guys anyway.”
He releases my hand and sits up, our faces close. “What other choice did you have?”
“I’m not innocent in all this. I can’t forgive myself for helping make a nice dinner for you guys every night after a long, hard day of murder. I did that because I was safe. I was fed. But I always had choices.”
“I love you. Even if you never want me to touch you again, I’ll still love you. Let’s start over somewhere new, and maybe someday you’ll be able to forgive yourself. And me. All we can do is try.”
The hope that was a flicker is now a growing flame. “You’re absolutely sure? You won’t wake up tomorrow and feel differently?”
“No.”
I take his hand again. “Okay. So let’s make a plan. Should I start skimming food and supplies?”
“No. Justin’s always had a sixth sense, and he already suspects you’ve softened me. We’ll leave tonight.”
I gasp, so happy I could weep. “Really?”
“I’ll tell Herrin I can’t sleep and offer to take his watch. He’s guarding the back by himself. You’ll come to the kitchen, and tell anyone who questions you on the way that you’re getting a snack. I’ll have a bag we can put some food in. They won’t know we’re gone until morning, and we’ll be far away by then.”
“Will they come after us?”
“I don’t know. But I know how to cover our tracks, so it won’t matter.”
I lunge at him and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him. “Thank you.”
He holds me against him for a few seconds. “It’s gonna be okay.”
I want to believe him. But Justin Lynch is vindictive. He’ll be furious.
Donovan can cover our tracks so the Deadmen can’t catch us tomorrow, but what about all the weeks and months after that? We’re putting targets on our backs.
I can’t live like this anymore, though. It doesn’t even feel like a life, but a purgatory. I’d rather sleep on the ground and scavenge for food than spend another day being complicit in the Deadmen’s brutality.
Forgiveness feels impossible right now. My guilt is a leaden blanket that covers me every minute, even when I’m asleep. I can’t shed it.
Donovan is right, though. All we can do is try.
32
“Marta Smythe must sleep on a bed of gold coins at night. Every commander’s wife begs to be dressed by her. Now we just need a jeweler who can design our stockpile of jewelry into new pieces we can sell. My wife has already spoken for the Hope Diamond.” – New America President Soren Whitman, in an electronic memo to his commanders
Amira
