Strike by Delilah S. Dawson Page B

was.
    â€œWe’re fighting for freedom. That doesn’t mean we have it right now. So shut up and listen. Where was I?” Heather looks at a sheet of paper. “Okay. So. You don’t need to be in this house unless it’s a designated meal time or you’ve been summoned. Don’t hang outhere, don’t try to sneak into the bathrooms, and no one goes upstairs.”
    â€œWhy not?” Gabriela asks.
    â€œBecause it’s off-limits.”
    â€œWell, now, see, that just makes me want to go up there more.”
    Heather’s grin disappears. “There’s going to be a big ol’ Crane boy with a gun at the stairs every moment of every day. They get real bored. Don’t give ’em a reason to shoot.”
    â€œI want to see Clark.”
    â€œWell, here’s the thing about Crane Hollow. If you want something, you’ve got to earn it.”
    â€œWe’ve got to earn the right to see our friend?” I say. “That’s bullshit.”
    Heather looks at me, all innocent. “That’s funny, coming from the person who shot him.”
    Every kid in the room turns to stare at me.
    â€œI didn’t know him at the time,” I mutter.
    â€œBadass,” murmurs one of the other kids.
    â€œYeah, we were breaking into her hideout at the time. Not her fault,” Gabriela says, and I feel like I’m going to owe her for life for not blaming me.
    â€œStill. Do good work at the range today, and if the weather holds, we’ll have a job for you soon. Do it well, and you’ll see your friend. Who, I assure you, is upstairs and doing great.”
    Nervous looks pass between me, Wyatt, Chance, and Gabriela.Matty burrows her face among our knees, her tail thumping. One thing I know for sure? I’m not letting this dog out of my sight.

    Heather leads us to the front porch and points us to a trail in the woods. “Follow that. Brady’s waiting for you in the field.” She disappears inside, and everybody eyes everybody else.
    â€œYou heard the bitch,” Chance says. He takes off with Gabriela at his side looking fierce. She must’ve kept some of her own makeup after Valor, as her eyes are striped with electric purple today, surrounded with heavy black liner.
    Wyatt’s hand curls in mine, and Matty wiggles at my side, all ready to go. The small, terrifying girl, Bea was what Heather called her—she’s directly in front of us. I can’t even hear her sneakers on the path, like she doesn’t weigh anything. Her hair is in a tight French braid, her outfit entirely in camouflage. I know from the Valor records in Alistair’s trailer that she has to be at least sixteen, but she looks like a murderous doll. I slow down when it feels like we’re walking too close to her.
    It’s a beautiful morning, full of birdsong, with the last of the leaves softly drifting down through the sun-dappled autumn forest. Matty’s practically dancing on her fat paws, and Wyatt swings our hands, just a little, as if he’s forgotten where we are and why we’re here. He has some ability that I lack to forget the past and the future and live in the moment. I envy it. He’s barely spoken of his father’sdeath, but I can’t forget it. I can’t stop thinking of the thousand different ways Valor might’ve already tortured and killed my mom. I begin to see why she sank into painkillers after her car accident. She said the nightmares would wake her up, like she was reliving it, trapped in the crushed car and bleeding, and her heart would pound so high and fast that her fingers and toes would go cold, and then she was gulping down pills in the dark with trembling hands. If I could numb myself to what I feel in the night, I would do it. I would totally do it.
    But I can’t. Even if Chance has the pills, I can’t. I have to be ready to run and fight, every second of every day.
    The path opens up to a field