“See those?” Johnson pointed. “We’ve got to dodge ’em.”
Loup tugged her cap down firmly. “Okay.”
He gave her a tight smile. “On my go.”
Ron Johnson ran like something shot out of a cannon. Loup followed in his footsteps, feeling the effects of a month’s incarceration and malnutrition. Adrenaline surged in her veins and her heart pounded in her chest. Years of training, shot to hell. The searchlights swept swiftly across the concrete. He dodged and veered with effortless grace while she struggled to keep up, awkward in her oversized boots.
Behind them, there was shouting. A squadron of men trotted across the yard, the sweeping searchlights throwing their shadows in stark patterns.
Johnson made one last dash and cleared the yard. He crouched in the shadow of a bush until Loup caught up with him.
“Okay.” He straightened. “Walk like you’ve got a purpose, soldier.”
The alarm’s siren continued to rise and fall. Ron Johnson set out with a brisk, purposeful stride. Loup settled in beside him, keeping her head lowered.
They crossed the base. Outside of the detention center, systems were operating normally. No one stopped them, no one questioned them. Once a jeep careened past them, but it didn’t even slow down.
At the outskirts of the base, Johnson touched Loup’s arm. She glanced up at him.
“Perimeter’s half a mile west,” he said softly, lips close to her ear. “We’re going over the fence. I’ve got a jeep waiting on the far side. But we’re going to have to move fast to outstrip rumors. Can you manage?”
She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
They ran into the night, into the desert. Warm, arid air washed over them. Johnson set a hard, steady pace—too fast for conversation. Loup felt her lungs burn and muscles strain as she drained reserves of energy she hadn’t known her body hoarded. Her booted feet thudded on the hard-packed dirt, stumbling over rocks and clumps of wiry grass. The lights of the base and the sound of the siren grew fainter behind them.
Out of the starlit darkness, a chain-link fence loomed, topped with razor wire.
Johnson halted. “Good girl.”
She gazed at the glinting razor wire, breathing hard. “How—?”
“Like this.” He rummaged along the base of the fence and came up with a piece of carpet, then clambered up the fence and laid it over the razor wire. “Try not to put your weight on it.”
“Okay.” She pushed through her tiredness and forced herself to climb. It took a lot of concentration. Her legs trembled. At the top, Johnson steadied her while she straddled the carpeted razor wire. She wavered, feeling the sharp points beneath her threatening to pierce the thick carpeting.
Another, louder alarm siren joined the first.
“Base’s on full alert now,” he said laconically. “Better hurry.”
“No kidding.” Loup drew her other leg carefully over the wire. She clung to the chain links, catching her breath and letting her arms support her weight. Johnson used her to steady himself as he crossed the razor wire. “How come you’re doing this, anyway?”
He pulled the carpet loose with a grunt, massaging his wrenched shoulder. “Because I should never have gotten in that ring with your brother. It wasn’t right.”
And then there was no more time to talk.
He steered her toward a waiting jeep concealed in a thicket of scrub. “Here.” In the rear of the jeep he unsnapped a canvas cargo cover and tossed the carpet inside. “Get in. Make yourself small. Not a sound.”
Loup met his eyes. “What’s your name? Your real name?”
“John.”
“John Johnson?”
His mouth twitched. “The government’s not real creative.” He pulled a bottle of cheap whiskey from his rucksack and swallowed a mouthful, then spilled some on his uniform. “Get in and shut the fuck up.”
She crawled into the cargo space and curled into a ball. He pulled the cover taut and snapped it back into place.
Minutes later, the jeep coughed into life.
They jolted over rough terrain, a difficult drive rendered harder by the fact that Johnson was driving without headlights. Inside the cargo space, Loup braced herself. At last the jeep lurched onto a smooth surface. Johnson turned on his lights and drove faster. From time to time, other headlights swept past them. Loup curled herself tighter beneath the canvas. It made her think about that night in the cemetery after Tommy’s death, lying on the ground, her body coiled around a knot of pain.
And Pilar, easing it.
She wished she could have brought the robe.
Then there was only the steady roar of the engine vibrating through the floorboards, the stink of diesel fumes. She wondered what it would mean to be in twice as much shit if they were caught. Beatings, maybe.
So what.
Betrayal would be worse. If Ron Johnson—John Johnson—was playing some game to fuck with her head, she was going to do her damnedest to make him pay for it. It was one thing to be lied to by fucking I-want-to-be-your-friend Derek. It was another thing to be lied to by her own kind.
The jeep slowed and began making turns. The sound of the engine reverberated differently. They weren’t out in the open any longer. In fact, she could hear voices and the faint strains of music.
Outpost. They were in Outpost.
Someone hailed the jeep with a shout. It slowed, then stopped, the engine idling. Footsteps approached.
The beam of a flashlight played over the jeep. Loup hugged her knees to her chest, making sure no part of her showed or cast a shadow, trying not to breathe. Her heartbeat seemed unnaturally loud.
“Where you headed, soldier?” an MP’s deep voice asked.
“Meetin’ a girl, sir.” Johnson sounded confident and a little slurred.
“You drinking and driving?”
“No, sir!”
“Uh-huh. Hand it over.” There was a faint liquid slosh. “Go on, have fun while you can. Stay in radio contact. Right now the base is in lockdown, and all hands might be recalled for a manhunt. We’ve got a big-time runner.”
Johnson sighed. “Yes, sir!”
And then the jeep was moving again, taking another series of turns. Loup let out her breath. If it was a trick, it was an elaborate one.
The jeep halted, engine idling. There were footsteps and a grating sound, then footsteps returning. The jeep lurched forward and halted. The engine cut out. Another grating sound. More footsteps. She tensed, wary and uncertain.
Johnson unsnapped the cargo cover.
Loup uncoiled, quick as a snake and ready for anything.
“Whoa!” He stepped back, flashing an unexpected grin. His green eyes glittered. “It’s okay. We made it.”
“Made it where?”
“You’ll see.”
She clambered out of the cargo space. John Johnson busied himself with his rucksack. The jeep’s headlights were still on, illuminating the space. They were in a garage, an ordinary residential garage, with a homely door leading to the house and stairs leading to a basement. A sense of emptiness and abandonment pervaded the place.
But outside those walls…
Loup’s blood quickened. “I don’t know this place. But we’re in Outpost, aren’t we? Aren’t we?”
“Yeah. On the outskirts. There’s an old smugglers’ tunnel here in the basement. The army dynamited it ages ago, but they did a half-assed job. There’s people on the other end been working years to clear it. If we’re lucky, it won’t fall on our heads. Did I mention the part where we might get killed?” He came to face her. “Loup, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t.”
“But—”
“Don’t.” Johnson raised his voice. “They’ve got a watch posted on everyone you ever fucking knew in this town. You can’t go back; not now, not for a damn long time. After you disappear, they’re going to be watching harder. Did you hear that MP back there? Once they figure out you got off the base somehow, there’s going to be a full-scale manhunt. You’ll get caught and anyone you contact is going to be taken in for questioning. Maybe disappeared. Understand?”
She sighed. “I guess.”
“Don’t give me I-fucking-guess!” He shook her until her cap fell off. He was strong enough to do it. “Just understand, okay?”
“Okay,” Loup said mildly. “It’s just that I wish I could see—”
“I know. I do. We’ve had people watching you.” Johnson sighed and loosed her. He picked up her cap and shoved it into his rucksack, producing a second flashlight in its place. “You won’t be needing this. Come on.” He turned off the jeep’s headlights and headed down the basement stairs, turning on his flashlight.
“What people?” Loup asked, following.
“People. Friends, allies.” He searched for a trapdoor, found it. Wrenched it open. A series of rusted metal rungs descended into darkness. He glanced at Loup, then fished in his pockets and handed her a couple of wrapped protein bars. “Here, eat these. You’ll need the energy. We can’t afford to slow down.”
She obeyed, tearing open one of the bars. “What friends?”
“Your father and his brethren, the original kin, they always had allies.” Johnson watched her eat. “Ordinary enlisted men who helped them escape, sympathetic scientists. The ones who made it to Mexico were able to make contact once they were safe. The network’s grown ever since.”
Loup chewed and swallowed. “Where do you come in?”
“Human GMOs are considered government property,” he said. “Some of the same people who helped your father and kin are trying to help us. And you.” He gave her a hard smile. “We’re trying to change things from the inside out. You can be a part of it.”
She took another bite. “What’s a GMO?”
“Genetically modified organism. That’s what they call us.”
“How’d you know about me?”