HAVEN ✓

Four

Wincing against the shrill ringing in my ears, I close out the cash register and hurry to pack my belongings. The sirens started about five minutes ago and haven't stopped, which means that this is not a drill. Why can't I just have a week without something bad happening?

Markee rushes in, panting and hair sticking to the sweat at her neck.

"Do you know what's going on?" I lean across the counter to ask her, trying to be heard over the noise wailing throughout Herald.

She takes a moment to catch her breath. "I couldn't get in touch with Miles to ask," she says while shaking her fiery mop. Her eyes glint with usual mischievousness, ever curious and eager to discover. Even the sweat beading on her forehead can't douse her fire.

Sirens like these in Herald mean one of three things: the first, and most likely, is that a criminal escaped from the labor camp, indicating that we are advised to stay in our houses so the military can do their jobs. The second reason is that there is severe weather or a natural disaster headed our way and it's safer to stay inside. The third reason, and the most frightening, is that there has been a Breach: a band of Outlanders in our city.

That has only ever happened once in my lifetime.

I round the counter and Markee and I step into the heightened bustle of Market Circle where vendors are hastily packing up their wares. Glancing up at the clear blue sky, I bite the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit I've tricked to kick since I was little. I stop Vera as she is locking the produce in the pantry and ask her if she knows what's caused the alert this time. She surveys the crowd before putting a bony hand on my shoulder, her wrinkles deepening as she frowns at me.

"You two should scurry home right now," she warns, knowledge in the caramel swirls of her irises. With that, she picks up her bag and walks out into the hustle and bustle of people milling about frantically.

"That was weird," Markee comments, her gaze following the woman's gray head as she weaves through the crowd. It was indeed strange, and the fact that she didn't give us an answer doesn't sit well with me. Remembering her fragile, firm grip on my shoulder sets a heavy stone in my stomach, her words betraying the cryptic look she gave me.

"Let's try to find Miles. He would know what's up," Markee suggests, her curiosity winning over her better judgment.

My steps falter. "But Vera said we need to go home. It seems like a real emergency, look how everyone else is freaking out," I say, waving to the quickly emptying market.

"Don't you want to know why?" she asks, the spark in her eyes solidifying the knot in my middle. "What do we have to hide from? Something exciting is finally happening and I'm not going to just sit at home wondering about it."

I can sense that whatever the reason for the city to be on high alert, it isn't good. As if Markee sees my decision teetering on the tip of a knife, she continues softly, "I have a funny feeling about this. With everything that's been going on lately, it's awfully fishy."

I know we should do what the law suggests and head to the safety of our homes, but something isn't right, and it's just so easy to slip behind a determined Markee when she has a goal.

"Fine," I sigh. "But after we find out what's happening, we're going home."

With a stomach full of unease, we depart in search of Miles.

◊ ◊ ◊

After half an hour of brisk walking, we come upon the border patrol station Miles is assigned to. It sits alone atop the levee, exactly one mile from the neighboring station. The entirety of Herald is held inside the circle of the levee, a defensive strategy our ancestors implemented centuries ago. This far from Market Circle, the blaring sirens have become a muted ringing in my ears inciting a dull headache, whereas Markee only seems to have tuned them out.

The squat gray building has no guards surrounding it and no one pacing in the windows or manning the watchtower on the roof. There doesn't seem to be any signs of life anywhere aside from the both of us. There aren't even any birds around to fill the air with song. Goosebumps rise on my skin and I glance to Markee, seeing her flame-colored eyebrows knot at how empty the station is.

The desolation is eerie. I'm used to the warm greetings from Miles and his buddies when Markee and I visit. It's not everyday that there's trouble for the border patrol to deal with, so there's always, always someone there. Playful banter and jokes would echo throughout the station. Usually so full of life, seeing the place dead raises the hair at my nape.

I'm just about to walk up to the door and knock, hoping anyone is in there to answer our questions when Markee stops abruptly and grabs my arm. I freeze as Markee does, but I don't see anything to put us in immediate danger.

"What—" I begin, but she puts a finger to her lips, signaling me to not speak. I stand there in silence for two excruciatingly long seconds.

"What's that sound?" I ask, panic constricting my throat. She motions for me to follow as we duck behind the station and listen quietly, tuning our ears to a distant clamor.

Horrifying noises fill the air in the forest beyond the levee. Battle cries, gunshots, screaming; the sounds of an attack and defense. There's the screech of metal against metal, the crunch of forest debris being trampled. The fleshy thump of people falling to the ground. My mind fabricates scenes from the gruesome noises: soldiers aiming and shooting. The thud of people dropping like flies.

No, not just people.

Outlanders.

The sirens are alerting the people of Herald that there has been a Breach.

I look to Markee and find her already staring at me wide-eyed, realizing the same thing I do. I squeeze my eyes shut as pieces of the scene come to me, my imagination quilting a picture of violence and desperation, pain and death. With such an upheaval of sound, there has to be a lot of people involved, which means that there are a great multitude of Outlanders crossing into Herald, the first Breach since Rhett was taken.

"We should have just gone home like Vera said," I tell Markee, my voice tight—it's getting hard to suck in air. When she doesn't reply, my eyes fly open to see her no longer crouched next to me. I spring up in panic, rounding the corner just in time to catch her climbing down the levee toward the forest.

"Are you out of your mind?" I growl at her.

"Miles could be out there," she replies, trudging faster down the man-made hill.

"This is his job. He's trained for this—you and I aren't!" When she shows no signs of turning around or even slowing down, I have no choice but to climb down after her. "You're going to get us killed!"

At that, she turns around and fixes me with a gaze so angry, so betrayed, that I stop dead in my tracks.

"Fine, you can just sit here and let another one of our friends die because of the Outlanders!"

My heart stops. There is no longer any blood being pumped through my veins. There is no breath in my lungs. There is only the sting of her words slicing through the cacophony of my thoughts.

Markee's fists clench, knuckles white. "I'm going to do something other than just wait around for someone to tell me that Miles is dead! So you can go back home and wait and worry, or you can come with me and do something about it."

I shouldn't be surprised by her words, but I can't help the hand that flies to my throat in shock. It is fitting of Markee to have the confidence to rush in and save the day when her friends are in danger. Though her bravery may be fool-hardy, the love for her friends is fierce.

But she is right in a way. If something were to happen to Miles that we could have prevented, I would never forgive myself. My guilt book is already filled to the last page.

A course of action is already forming in my head, covering each liability, and I realize I've already made my decision. We are not equipped for combat in the slightest, but if we can get close enough, we can keep an eye on the soldiers and look for Miles. No unnecessary involvement is required. And I do believe that Markee can make a difference. She's always been headstrong and determined, both things it takes to be successful—everything I'm not.

I suck in a deep breath and take my place behind Markee, following her over the levee toward the battle.