Ruthless Page 10

  The rescue plan was in motion, but we were going to need help. Though every cell in my body wanted to run to Jude’s old room, to see if he was still there, still alive, I needed to do something else first. I pressed on past the Jewish quarter, toward the Muslim quarter, to the big familiar suite where I’d once spent an unpleasant election night.

  The soldier rapped on the door, and a stunned and gaunt Mohammed, Layla’s father, exited. Initially his eyes filled with apprehension, then confusion when he finally recognized me. I was elated to see he was alive, and I smiled, trying to let him know I was still on his side. “Long time no see,” I said. “We could use your help.”

  The realization landed heavy on my chest. I’d gotten this far. Which meant my time was almost up. I finally admitted to myself what I’d been unable to admit to Zack, or to Dawn: more likely than not, I wouldn’t be making it out of Turkey.

  4

  “I haven’t been much help to anyone in a while,” Mohammed said darkly. The former leader of the resistance looked so small now. His politician’s charm and confidence had withered, leaving behind a broken shell.

  I let myself into his cell, closing the door behind me to give us privacy. “I have an army,” I told him. “Maybe you’ve heard, out there they think I’m a prophet.”

  Mohammed chuckled. “I heard rumors, but I did not believe they could be true.”

  His pure amusement lightened the mood, for just a moment. I played along, joking, “I guess you didn’t know, I’m very wise.”

  He nodded, serious for a moment. “I believe it.”

  I couldn’t help but be touched by the compliment. “I converted Prophet Daniel’s army in Brazil, and they flew us here. We brought empty planes we can use to rescue everyone. We just need to find a way to get everyone into them.”

  “A distraction,” he surmised.

  “That was Dawn’s idea, yeah.”

  He looked at me, understanding more clearly why I was in his cell. “You want me to be the distraction.”

  “Both of us,” I said quickly, making sure he knew I was willing to put myself in the line of fire. “Better distraction.”

  He eyed me carefully. “Will your army take my family home if you aren’t flying with them?”

  My stomach lurched. It was a fear I had as well. “Probably. Dawn told them she’s my guru . . . I’m sure they’ll follow her, too.”

  “A guru, not a prophet.” Mohammed paced, deep in thought.

  “Dawn had the same objections,” I told him. “But I told her I wanted to do this.”

  He shook his head, resolute. “I can do it alone.”

  “No . . .” I whispered, knowing what he was offering.

  “You did not really think I would let you go out there with me, did you?” Mohammed asked, a glint in his eye. “You knew what you were asking when you came here.”

  I stood my ground, insistent. “I made myself a prophet because I wanted to save you guys. It got us here. That was all I needed it for . . .”

  Mohammed’s voice grew grave. “You need it to keep fighting after this. For all of us. You have seen the power of faith by now. All around the world, people are looking for someone to believe in. Someone to give them hope, to make them feel safe. That desire is what allowed the Revelations to take hold. Perhaps that desire can end the Revelations as well. Instead of covering people’s eyes to lead them away from the truth, lead them toward it.”

  “I might not succeed . . .” I warned him.

  “But what if you do?” he said, covering his pain with a sad smile.

  “Thank you,” I said, not knowing how to properly express my gratitude for the risk he was taking.

  “You will thank me by getting them to safety.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can, I promise. I hope we have enough time . . .”

  “You will,” Mohammed said, grim.

  “I appreciate your confidence, but . . .”

  “No. There are not many of us left, that is what I mean. You will have time.”

  My heart sank. “Jude, Layla, Irene . . . ?”

  His expression gave me relief. “My family, and Dawn’s, have been well cared for. The prophets know they are leverage. Others have not . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. My insides ached, remembering the thousands of people who had once filled our massive meeting hall. Wondering how many were left.

  I couldn’t grieve just yet. We had a plan. Now we just needed to survive it.

  5

  “Tell your commander, the leader of the compound wants to negotiate,” I told the terrified Turkish soldier who’d been helping me. He nodded and ran off as I hurried in the opposite direction. I had a limited time to find and free what remained of the resistance, while the Turkish army was distracted by Mohammed’s gambit.

  I moved through the halls in a blur, opening door after door and finding . . . no one. Mohammed hadn’t been exaggerating. This place which had once been full of life was . . . empty. That silence wasn’t just fear, it was death. Loss.

  Though Mohammed had promised my friends were alive, I still felt a jolt of dread as I approached the Jewish quarter. My feet pounded the stone floor, almost ran ahead of me to reach Jude’s door. I threw it open, my eyes searching the room. It was empty, I thought at first, as I scanned in a panic.

  And then I saw him, leaning against the wall in the corner. Thinner than I’d ever seen him before, with a distant look in his eyes, and a dirty grayness to his skin that camouflaged him with the floor. It was his movement toward me that made me notice him at all, and I blurted out instinctively, “Don’t touch me.” I couldn’t risk him getting the same fatal Punishment as the last person who’d made that mistake.

  He was surprised and taken aback, but he took it in stride. “Hello to you, too.”

  I’d built a picture in my mind of what Jude’s experience must have been like while I was away. But seeing him staring back at me, I realized I knew nothing. For the third time now, he’d gone off and had a whole other life without me, emerging changed. He’d begun as an awkward teen, transformed into an angry rebel, and now . . . something else. Something calmer, clearer, surer.

  I wished I could spend the next century just staring at him, being relieved he was alive, but we didn’t have time. “Find Layla,” I told him. “And Irene, and everyone you can who’s still alive. Tell them to meet us at the back entrance.”

  “So you’re my rescue party,” he said, looking at me with a kind of relief and awe.

  “Best you’re going to get, unfortunately.”

  “Best I could have gotten.” Jude grinned, that same boyish grin I’d once fallen in love with, the one that made me feel like everything was okay, even just for a moment. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and we parted with the same ease and familiarity as always.

  Jude was alive. Now I just had to keep him that way.

  6

  Somewhere out there, Mohammed would be emerging from the cave. Facing down the general of the Turkish forces. The prophets’ men would be confused—why would a prisoner think he had the leverage to negotiate? He’d tried this before many times, to no avail. But now, Mohammed would have a plan: an incendiary device I’d given him, an elaborate, multipronged smoke bomb. The hope was that by using it, he could simulate an attack coming from the east, to distract our enemies, while the rest of the resistance escaped to the west. There would be only a small window for Mohammed to escape, and I desperately hoped he’d be able to slip through.

  At least, that was how it was supposed to go. Down here in this dank cave, I could only guess how Mohammed was faring aboveground. I couldn’t see or hear a thing; I had no idea whether our plan was working, how much time we had left. Whether, as I gathered these few survivors, one by one, I was simply leading them to their deaths. As I scoured the compound, my mission felt more and more futile. A dozen or so prisoners, that was all I found alive—the others, thousands, were already gone. We were too late.

  But
rescuing a dozen people was better than nothing. When I arrived at the back entrance, I was relieved to see Jude approaching with Layla and Irene in tow, both looking haggard and terrified. Layla’s eyes flashed when she spotted me; clearly she’d pieced together what our plan was. “What is my father doing? Why is he not here?”

  “He’s giving us cover to escape,” I said nervously. Though Mohammed had been eager to help, I knew how worried I’d feel if my own father was walking into the line of fire.

  “I am not leaving without him,” Layla said. “Where is he? Jude would not tell me.”

  “Risking his life to save the rest of your family. I promised him I’d get you out of here safely,” I told her carefully.

  “So you will lie to me to do it?” she asked breathlessly. “You think I am some kind of child, who needs to be protected with secrets?”

  I knew exactly what she was—irrationally desperate to save someone she loved. I’d been in her shoes too many times to count. I knew what would happen if I told her the truth, but I also knew, from being in those shoes, that I couldn’t lie to her. “He’s at the front entrance,” I said. “Creating a distraction.”

  “I’m going to help him,” she insisted, walking in that direction.

  “Layla, don’t!” Jude called after her. He looked desperately at me as Layla disappeared into the darkness of the cave. Guilt came over me; Mohammed was making this sacrifice to save his daughter, and here I’d just endangered her life.

  I turned to Jude. “Get everyone out of here. Dawn will be waiting to take people to the plane.”

  Jude’s eyes trailed after Layla, reluctant to leave her behind, but he acquiesced, begging, “Get her out safe.” I nodded, a promise I hoped I could keep.

  Jude followed the few resistance members who were already climbing toward the bright crack of daylight in the ceiling. I hoped this wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. But I knew I couldn’t face him, face anyone, if I didn’t get Mohammed’s family, my friend, out of Turkey. Determined and terrified, I followed Layla into the darkness of the cave, not sure what I’d find when I emerged on the other side.

  7

  My feet echoed as I ran down the halls. It was even more eerily silent now that all the patrolling soldiers had been distracted by Mohammed’s gambit near the front entrance. “Grace!” a voice hissed, and I saw Layla ahead of me, hiding behind a jagged edge in the rock wall. I moved to meet her.

  “Who are you hiding from?” I whispered.

  “There are soldiers up ahead. My father is just beyond them.” Her eyes roved the blackness in front of us, and I could see her trying to formulate a plan.

  “We can’t save him,” I urged her. “He has to do this alone. He would want you to go back, to get on that plane. The risk he’s taking isn’t worth it if he can’t save you.”

  Layla shook her head. “He is my father. I will not leave without him.”

  I’d gotten used to my words having these magical powers, to people just going along with whatever I said. It was a strange change of pace to be ignored. I wondered if this was how Dawn had felt, all the times I’d impetuously gone off book, determined to do the “right thing,” even if it wasn’t strategic.

  I heard heavy footfalls, growing louder, making their way toward us—a glance up ahead showed it was a guard, making his rounds, perhaps drawn by the sound of our whispers. Layla held her breath as I coiled myself up, ready to pounce. The moment the Turkish guard was within striking distance, I lunged, touching him with my toxic hand. He cried out, as his face quickly morphed into something twisted.

  Remorse overtook me, knowing I’d taken another life. Intentionally, this time. Actively. It felt like my grip on morality was slipping, like I was tumbling deep into a dark realm I never thought I’d tread. This is war, I told myself, steeling my conscience against this harsh new reality. But still . . . I couldn’t quell the sickness in my stomach.

  My own horror was mirrored by the revulsion on Layla’s face, but she didn’t have time to judge me. The screams of the guard must have attracted attention—we could hear more footsteps moving toward us. Layla glared at me. “They know we are here now,” she whispered angrily.

  But I wasn’t deterred. “You weren’t going to be able to help your father, you were just going to get in the way. You have no weapons, no tools, no special knowledge. I do,” I said, gesturing to my deadly skin. “I need you to trust me. I need you to go back to where Jude and the others are. I can save your father.”

  “You promise?” she asked me hesitantly. I knew if I said yes, it meant I could keep my promise to Mohammed to get her out of Turkey, even if it meant breaking a new one to Layla.

  “I promise,” I told her. “Go. Please.”

  After a moment of hesitation, she glanced at the now dead guard in front of us, listening to the echoing footsteps of more on their way. “Save him,” she commanded me, and then she turned and ran.

  As her footfalls disappeared into the shadows, the ones ahead of me grew louder. I braced myself, looking at the guard lying in front of me, filling with sick determination. I didn’t want to have to kill anyone else, but I knew I would do what I needed to do to protect Layla’s retreat. This kind of murder felt repulsively routine. I was becoming desensitized to my own cruelty.

  A figure emerged, and as I prepared to strike, I made out his features in the dim light. It was Mohammed, running like a madman. The heavy feeling in my gut lightened, as I realized he’d made it out alive after all.

  He spotted me, and I slipped into a brisk run next to him, both making our escape. “We only have a short time,” he told me. “The soldiers are busy shooting into the smoke; your distraction is working. But it won’t for long.”

  The winding hallways seemed lengthier than ever as I wondered when the soldiers at the front entrance would realize what was really happening. Finally, we rounded the last corner, and that sliver of sky was in sight . . . just as three guards approached us from the opposite side of the hall, guns raised.

  “Don’t move,” they shouted, and I followed Mohammed’s lead, putting my hands in the air. We’d come so close; I could see our escape path. I couldn’t believe our mission would really end like this.

  Before I could say anything, make my case . . . a gunshot rang out. I was sure it had missed, until I saw Mohammed crumple to the ground.

  “No!” I screamed, dropping to my knees, watching the blood pool around his face. It couldn’t be, not like this, not with one simple shot. His eyes were closed, his breath was silent; he was warm but unmoving. I wanted to shake him until the life reentered his body, wanted to rewind time, find some other path through these caves, some way to route my friend to safety. But I couldn’t do any of those things, I could only stare at the husk of this once intimidating man, his lifeless form sprawled on the ground so casually.

  “No,” I whispered again, forgetting there were still guns trained on me. Forgetting my own life was still at risk, until three more gunshots rang out, deafening. I braced myself for the impact, before looking up to realize . . . my three assailants were lying dead on the ground. I twisted my head behind me to find a familiar face: the soldier who had been protecting me, the one I’d converted by killing his friend. His gun raised, shaking. He hadn’t even hesitated; he’d shot his own comrades point-blank, one at a time.

  A strange pallor came over my new soldier friend. “I’m sorry, Prophet,” he whispered. He could feel himself being Punished—this time, from his own guilt at killing his friends. His voice shook. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  I pulled a pill from my pocket, borrowed from my Brazilian military friends, and placed it in his hand. “It was,” I promised him. He took the pill, and his expression returned to normal. One death averted, at least. For now.

  Still, as I looked at the bodies of those three dead Turkish soldiers, my insides curdled. Those three deaths had saved my life, had protected the lives of the resistance members I was trying to rescue. I hated the way I kept
doing the math like that . . . and I hated more how the math kept changing. First I could balance one life against all of ours, then two, then three more. How far was I willing to go, what was I willing to give up?

  I looked at Mohammed’s body, unmoving on the ground. It killed me that I hadn’t been able to save him, that I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Layla. That a good man had borne the cost of this war. I didn’t want to leave him behind, but I knew his sacrifice would be worth nothing if I didn’t make it to that plane. I scrambled up the rock face, until my fingers touched the stiff blades of grass blanketing the world above. I emerged on the surface, where I could see the rest of the resistance at a distance, retreating toward the airstrip. I sprinted after them, hoping the prophets’ military wouldn’t find me before I was safely with my own.

  As I reached the crest of the ridge, I saw Dawn, waiting where I’d left her, gesturing for me to hurry onto the planes. She handed me a sweatshirt. “Better not risk you rubbing up on anyone with that stuff on your arms.”

  “Thanks.”

  I put it on, but I didn’t head toward the plane. “Mohammed’s gone,” I choked out.

  Dawn looked at me with sympathy, upset though unsurprised. “You saved the others,” she reassured me. As I boarded the plane, the guilt, the anguish followed me—guilt that I couldn’t save Layla’s father. Guilt that I’d allowed others to die in the process. All that guilt would follow me back to Brazil, I knew. It would follow me forever. Dawn was right—the guilt itself was Punishment enough for a lifetime.

  While our engines were revving up, General Feliciano pulled me aside with a genuine, respectful gaze. “Thank you for keeping my troops out of danger. Prophet Daniel would not have done the same.” So I’d accomplished one piece of my mission, at least. Whatever doubts the general might have once harbored, I’d managed to assuage them. For now.