Frozen by Erin Bowman Page B

just that if their goal was eliminating Frank they might have thought it was their only option.”
    “Questionable morals, if you ask me,” Sammy says, and then, as if it makes up for it, he adds, “At least they’ve got a ballsy name.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Well, the East referred to everyone in the West as expatriates during the War because the West wanted to secede. They were happy to renounce their country. But now, it looks like they’ve taken what used to be an insult and embraced it. It’s like a slap in Frank’s face.”
    “It’s ironic, too,” Isaac says from the wheel. “Especially given their new slogan, how they’re saying fighting Frank is the truly patriotic act.”
    The jug reaches me and I take a swig before passing it on to Bo.
    “What about that virus they released at the start of the War?” he says. “Was that patriotic ?”
    Isaac shrugs. “My old man used to say revolutionaries and terrorists are one and the same. It ain’t logical, that theory, and at the same time, it is. Makes my head hurt.”
    My father frowns, deep in thought. “That virus was released decades ago, so the people responsible are likely no longer the ones in charge. Maybe we don’t know as much about AmWest—about the Expats—as we think we do.”
    Emma looks like she wants to bring up their air attack again, but Bree cuts in. “It just seems awfully suspicious to me. How these rumors and stories have started popping up all of a sudden.”
    “We have been heading west,” Xavier points out.
    Sammy taps the table livelily. “Yeah, maybe we’re hearing all this because we’re moving closer to the source. Maybe these stories die out before ever reaching Taem.”
    My father raises an eyebrow. “And maybe Frank makes sure they die out.”
    “Wait a minute!” I say, an idea slamming into me. “Remember when the Forgery laughed about our plans with Group A? He said Frank was giving us too much credit to assume we were extending our reach in the West. Well, maybe he meant the west-west. As in AmWest! Maybe Frank knows they’d make a good ally for us and that’s why he’s been so bent on stopping this mission.”
    Everyone twists to face Jackson, who is slumped against the glass windows, looking bored. “You think whatever you want. Unless we revisit our deal, the only thing I’m giving you is a way into the Outer Ring.”
    Owen stands. “I’ve got September scouring Bone Harbor over these Expat rumors, but maybe she should be trying to get in touch with Ryder instead. I’d love to know what he makes of all this.”
    He scrambles for the radio beside Isaac, desperate to make a call before we slip out of range. Our speculations continue until the alcohol starts warming us, convincing us to trade serious talk for something more relaxed. When Owen rejoins us at the table, Emma suggests a game of Little Lie, or, as the Rebels call it in Crevice Valley, Bullshit.
    We play for what feels like hours, everyone telling five supposed facts and the group attempting to guess which one is a lie. Xavier lets slip that he hates cats, and everyone shoves Dixie at him for the rest of the evening. Clipper and my father both admit to fears of heights, which I may have guessed about the boy, but not Owen. The story of how Sammy’s father was executed for forging water-ration cards in Taem somehow comes up, turning the mood sour, and Bree counters by sharing a handful of embarrassing things that have happened in her lifetime, many of which I wish I could unhear: rolling in poison ivy naked on a dare, wetting the bed once as a child, getting her first monthly bleeding while hunting and having to retreat home empty-handed for fear she was dying.
    The team is laughing hysterically. Bree’s cheeks are flushed, but I’m positive it’s not from shame. She’s just let the alcohol get the best of her. We all have. I’ve drunk so many times in defeat that my head has started spinning. The bridge is blurry—the faces around