"Hey, Kaden," I greet my guard as I head out. "What's up, man?" Act cool, act cool, act cool.
"Not much. Just standing outside your door, staring at stone, alone with my thoughts," he gestures towards the stone wall across from us. "Hey, where are you going?" Ugh, he noticed my backpack.
"Tucker's room. Told me to pack up and be ready to go. I'm assuming another assignment." I hoped I sounded nonchalant and not like someone who's afraid of getting busted.
"Ah, I see. Well, be safe out there. Don't get caught."
"I'll try not to," I smirk, heading down the hall towards the stairs, shaking my head. If only the poor guy knew.
The distance from my room to Tuckers is not long, but the change is significant. My room is on the fourth floor — the floor where the people one step down from any sort of leadership are. The fifth floor — Tucker's floor — houses the people in the first level of leadership. The higher up you go, the more important the people sleeping there are. Plus, the rooms get bigger as you go up.
Tucker's room has two parts: one for sleeping and one for working. He has a full-sized bed (big for our standards; I have a twin-sized bed that I'm almost falling off of) in the sleeping area and a huge desk and countless shelves for storage of non-existent belongings in the other section. I, on the other hand, just have a slab of wood acting as a desk situated in one corner, my bed in the other. And that's it. I'm hoping to get bumped up within the year.
Wait.
Why am I thinking of climbing the ranks when we're heading for freedom? I shouldn't be making plans for my future with the Band. In barely half an hour, I'm going to have no future with the Band! I can't help it, a smile grows and I pick up the pace, Tucker's door in sight.
"Hey, Ben," I greet Tucker's guard. "I have a meeting."
"This close to curfew?" The unfortunate thing about being a higher-up is that your guards are more intent on protecting you. Well, not really protecting you. More like protecting you from losing your well-earned spot by getting in trouble with Peter.
I sigh, my smile fading. "Yes. I have an assignment."
"Hmm, really? Because usually assignments happen closer to the afternoon and Tucker or Peter would have notified me beforehand."
Dammit, he was going to be tougher to crack than I thought. "Look, Ben. I don't have time for this. Let me in or Peter will find out about the loose bricks you found and he'll patch them up and you won't have a window anymore." The pros of being the secret keeper, I think to myself.
He shoots me a dirty look as he opens the door, letting me in. Success.
Tucker's room is a mess. And considering Peter requires us to keep everything in shipshape, this is unusual and will only raise suspicions. "Tucker! You have to clean this up! They're going to find out the second someone glances in!" No answer. "Tucker?" I head into his bedroom, finding his legs poking out from under the bed. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for my tent." His voice is muffled by the sheets hanging around him.
"Your tent?"
"Yes," he scoots out, a dark green bundle of tarp in his hands. "For shelter. We're not staying in hotels this time."
"Ah, I see. Hope you can fit two in there." He should have told me this before I packed. I didn't think to bring a tent or any sort of shelter. I mean, I didn't think we were staying in hotels either. I didn't think about where we would be sleeping at all. I guess I hoped the Agency was close enough that we could get there before tomorrow night.
He considers the bundle. "It should. But you should have thought to bring your own."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I roll my eyes. "Are you ready to go?"
"Almost." He begins shoving the contents of a nearby pile into his backpack, adding the tent on top.
"Oh, by the way, your guard is suspicious. Had to blackmail him to get in here."
"Who's guarding?"
"You don't know your guards?" I know my guards' rotating schedule like the back of my hand.
"No. They change too often for me to keep track. So who was it?"
"Ben." He doesn't show any sign of recognition. "Five foot ten, buzz cut, red hair, barely works out but tries to look tougher than he is?" Still nothing. "Nose ring?"
It's like a lightbulb goes off in his head and he curses under his breath. "Wonderful," he deadpans. "We're going to have an hour head start, tops."
"Huh?"
"That guy is trying to go for head guard and studies everyone and everything like he's a chemist and he's observing his experiment. He knows we don't have a mission and when he puts two and two together, he's going straight to Peter and we're busted."
Shit. "And then he gets head guard?"
"Yup."
Double shit. "So what are we supposed to do? Hold off until tomorrow?"
"No!" He says it like it's the dumbest thing he's ever heard. "It'll only raise more suspicions! We go now and we run our asses off and pray that Peter's asleep and he has to wait until morning to tell him."
"Then we'd better get moving." I head towards the door, Tucker on my tail.
"Hey, you still have stuff on the guy?" Tucker asks.
"Yeah..."
"If he asks anything, use it against him to keep him quiet. It might buy us some more time."
I hate this job. "Fine," I agree begrudging.
"Heading out?" Ben raises his eyebrow the second we step through the door.
I turned on him. "Yes, we are. Because we're told to. And if you try to spin the tale and tell Peter or anyone else that we left on our own, I'll tell people about the fox you feed. Not only will your window be patched up, but your fox may die and you'll lose your shot at head guard." The guy looks stunned. "Yeah, we know lots about you, Bennet Brown. And we're not afraid to share."
"My name," he forces out between gritted teeth. "Is not Bennet."
I snarl maliciously, tapping into my criminal side. "You try to forget about your past, but it always catches up to you. I wonder what Peter will do when he finds out who you really are."
"You wouldn't," he growls, eyes darkening in fear.
"You say one word against us, and I gladly will." With that, I turn away and walk down the hall, head held high.
"Bennet Brown?" Tucker hisses when he catches up to me. "As in, Clay Brown, Peter's enemy?"
"Yup. Benny boy over there is his son. Got disowned by his father, ran away, Peter found him and took him in. He's been hiding under an alias ever since," I spill. Tucker can keep a secret too. Plus, we're running away so it doesn't matter. "He has no plans to hurt Peter or the Band, though. His dream is to find his father again and kill him so I'm sure Peter and Ben would be besties."
He whistles, low and long. "Wow."
"Yup." Then we quiet down because we're almost to the main floor. Anyone could be around and could stop us. "Where do we go from here?" I whisper. "The front doors are too guarded and make too much noise when they open. How else are we supposed to get out?"
"The kitchen door," he whispers back. "Leads us to the loading alley and then it's a straight shot out."
"Why–" I start but Tucker puts a hand over my mouth and a finger to his lips, signaling me to shut up. Why isn't that area guarded? Is what I wanted to ask. Why hasn't anyone tried to escape before if it's that easy?
We silently slip out of the staircase and shuffle into the mess hall, our bodies flush against the old wall, peeling wallpaper poking into our backs. It hurts, but at least we're hidden in the shadows. We creep along the edge of the hall, making our way to the kitchen. Each time we hit an old wood plank, we freeze in fear that someone heard the wood's squeal. But no one ever does.
Eventually, we make it to the kitchen doors. Tucker peers into the little glass windows and looks for straggling kitchen staff. Seeing a clear path, he flashes me a thumbs up and we slip inside.
We jog through the never-ending maze of prep tables and stoves, checking each door we come across but each just stores food. Finally, Tucker opens a door, letting a brisk wind enter. "This is it," he whisper-shouts.
I hurry over and we exit, closing the door quietly behind us. Backs against the wall again, we examine the area. It is definitely an ally, all right. There's about six feet between us and the stone wall in front of us, five overflowing dumpsters taking up that room. "How are we supposed to get out of here if there's fucking dumpsters taking up the entire ally?"
"Climb over them, dummy," he snips.
I'd like to say I don't mind getting dirty and I don't care if my clothes reek, but halfway through the pit of trash, I suddenly mind. A lot. "Tuck, I'm getting grossed out," I warn, stomach squeezing a bit. Oh hell, what just went squish under my foot?
"I know, I know. Just think of freedom and hurry up. I'm stuck behind you!"
"Freedom? What freedom? We could get caught the second we get out of here. And knowing Peter, he'd make us climb through this again!"
Squish, squish, squish.
"But maybe not!"
Oh god I think I stepped in something moldy. Oh hellllll. "Tucker, you've never been an optimist! Just shut up!"
"What? I can't suddenly change my ways? I agreed to this! I could be perfectly fine committing crimes for the rest of my life."
"Liar. We all know you'd rather be free. Remember last year? Waking up every morning on those clouds?" Just pretend the sinking below you is that mattress. Pretend you don't know what's in there.
"I miss them every day," he admits. "Maybe we can find that hotel again since we have nowhere to go once we're free."
Squishhhhh.
Fuck.
"Oh, did I never tell you? We're going to the Agency."
"What!?" Tucker yelps. "The Agency?!"
"Yes!"
"Hell no. Not going there. That's a death sentence!"
I huff. Mr. Dramatic. "No, it's not. Libby's there. It's fine. She'll show us mercy."
"And the rest of them won't. That's one against however many people they have there. Hell to the no, Cole."
"Hell to the yes. Tuck. It'll be fine. Plus, I bet they have nice mattresses."
"Cole Woods. We're not going to the goddamned Agency! I'm your boss and I say no!"
"Is it just because Shay is there?" I tease. I hear Tucker lose his footing behind me and a string of curses comes flying out of him. "I guess so," I chuckle, mostly to myself.
"No, it's not because Shay is there. I can handle myself, thank you very much. It's because those girls hate us and will kill us both the second we get near. Remember the last thing Taylor said?"
"I will hunt you down and make you pay," we say in unison. Huh, I guess that line haunted the both of us.
"It was an empty threat and you know it," I reminded him even though I'm fully convinced she was telling the truth.
"Even so. Do you really want to risk it? My answer is no."
"My answer is yes." We finally reached the end of Trash Mountain, as I had officially named it in my head. "So we're going."
"No, we're not," he argues, hopping down from the last trash bag. We stay huddled at the mouth of the ally, not ready to run yet. "Do you even know where is it? No."
"Yes."
"How?" He's staring at me wide-eyed. "They're a secret agency."
"And we have one of their agents." I begged Cleo to tell me so I could do research on the area. I told her it was so we could infiltrate efficiently, but the truth was, I needed it to help plan our escape. "Look," I hunted in my backpack for my map, showing him the big red circle titled The Agency. "Cleo told me where it was."
He was pleasantly surprised, I could tell, and it made me proud of myself. "Okay. So let's say we go. How do we make them trust us?"
"Simple: Libby."
He scoffs. "You have all this trust in her, but you do remember what happened last year, right? We kinda killed them — figuratively, of course. There's no way she's trusting you."
Of course I remember. I stay awake each and every night, replaying everything. "Maybe so. But let me live in my fantasies until I'm proven wrong, okay?"
"Alright," he surrenders. "But for you to be proven right or wrong, we need to get out of here. Ready to run?" I nod, turning towards the trees and readying myself. "3... 2... 1... Run!"
- - -
I had mud caked along the seams of my pants. I hadn't washed my clothes or myself in a week and I was getting sick of smelling myself. I was tired and hungry, but we never stopped. It had been a week of walking, hitchhiking, and more walking and finally, we were near the Agency. Well, according to Tucker.
He took over map duties because he claimed he was the superior map reader and used his rank to get his way. I reminded him that we were free now and that the Band's ranks didn't apply, but he won the argument anyway. So now I'm just hoping and praying that he can actually read a map and has led us the right way because I am done.
Up ahead, I see some stone structure and my hopes soar. Could that be the Agency?
"I think we're about a mile away from the Agency," Tucker informs me, studying the map. Holy shit, we made it! "We'll stay here and then you can go try to find Libby tomorrow, okay? Let's just get settled and sleep. I'm exhausted."
"I couldn't agree more." I was already heaving off my backpack and unpacking. "Do you know if there's a water source around here?"
I hear the map crinkle. "Umm, yeah. Maybe a mile or so away, but in the opposite direction of the Agency."
"Wonderful. I'm getting water. You set up camp," I order, spinning on my heel and heading in the direction he pointed. Yes, it's foolish to go without a map, but it's just a mile. No biggie. If I continue in the direction Tucker pointed, I should hear water and that'll guide me. However, going back will be the tough part... oh well! Free navigating practice!
Halfway through, I regret going on my own. Being this close to the Agency has brought unwanted feelings to the surface. I can't stop thinking of Libby's gorgeous face; the pink of her cheeks when she blushes, her deep green eyes that are so easy to get lost in, the sweet smile she wears whenever we're together, her gleeful laugh when— ugh. I need to shut these thoughts off. I did a great job pushing them away at hom– the Band, but now that I'm two miles away from her, I can't keep them at bay anymore. I wonder how she'll react when she sees me. Will she run into my arms and never let go? Or will she sprint in the opposite direction and pretend she never saw me?
Unexpectedly, my heart seizes at the thought of her running away from me. I need that girl. Like oxygen. If she runs away from me...
I shake my head, ridding myself of these thoughts, before straining to hear the sound of rushing water. To my right, I hear it.
Water!
At the sound, my mind rids itself of the illusion it was playing to make me think I wasn't thirsty and my throat constricts in desperation. Water. That is my only focus right now. Not Libby. Not the Agency. Not the Band. Just water.
I sprint towards the sound and almost collapse at the marvelous sight of the glittering stream. Forgetting the cold, I walk right into the water and lie down, letting the water wash over me. Mmm, this feels good.
I'm very tempted to drink the water right here, right now, screw the consequences, but my subconscious is better than me. So, begrudgingly, I rise from the stream, fill the large container I had brought with me with water, and start the trek back. Hopefully, Tucker is close to being able to get a fire started and we can boil this liquid so I can finally drink it.
I observe the thick forest around me, looking for the path I took on my way in. Dammit, I should have made a more obvious path for myself.
After an hour and a half of walking one way and then backtracking just to go down a different path and backtrack again, I finally made it back. "Oh, good. You're back," Tucker says without looking up from the pile of sticks he's crouched by, trying to light a fire. "Was worried I'd have to face the Agency alone since you got eaten by a bear."
"Nope, I'm very much alive," I let the water container fall off my shoulder with a heavy thunk. "Thanks for caring, though." Tucker catches my sarcasm and grunts. Without looking, I can tell he's rolling his eyes too.
He glances over his shoulder at me. "Why are you wet?"
"Cleaned myself off. It was much needed. In fact, you should probably wash off too. You stink," I kindly inform him.
He focuses on the fire again. "I'll go later. The tent's halfway up. Mind finishing it?"
"Sure." I head over to where the navy tent is not, in fact, halfway up. It's just sitting in a heap. Asshole.
I huff and puff my way through it, finally getting the tent up half an hour later. I haven't put one of these up since... Well, I can't remember. It certainly wasn't an easy task but at least I'll know I put my all into making sure we had a place to sleep.
Once I had double-checked the sturdiness of the structure, I ducked inside to shed the sopping wet clothes clinging to my frame. I was slipping on a fresh shirt when Tucker unzipped the tent. "Hey! Knock next time! I could've been missing my pants instead of my shirt!" I exclaim.
He snorts. "Yeah and who is here to see you?"
Good point. "Uh, you?"
"And I care," he says with heavy sarcasm. "Water's ready. Food is cooking."
I whip past him, racing to the water and gulping it down. We ran out of water this morning and I've been starved of liquids since. Not a pleasant feeling, let me tell you. "Water is the best thing in the world," I declare between gulps. Tucker just looks at me like I've gone crazy.
Not long after, the food Tucker stole from the Band had finished cooking. We ate and discussed our plan for the next day (scouring the area for Agents and trying to find Libby) before cleaning up and heading into the tent. It was a tough squeeze considering we were two grown men fitting in a tent that could probably only fit three children, but we managed. I found his nearness comforting and quickly fell into a deep sleep.