Chapter 10 - Riggs

CHAPTER 10 - RIGGS

S he doesn't sleep . The shaking that started as we came up the stairs is nearly out of control now. She's not cold—this shaking is the remnants of fear. She was resigned to being left in that dungeon of a basement and when I gave her another option, her mind started to relax but her body was still tense.

But this shaking has gone beyond shivering now. It's more like the out-of-control gasping of hyperventilation, but in the muscles instead of the lungs. In fact, it's so bad, the bed is shaking now too.

I reach for her. "Come here."

Immediately, she's recoiling away from me. "Don't touch me."

But this twin bed is way too small for her to put up any kind of real defense, so I slip one arm under her hip and the other around her waist and pull her up to my chest, hugging her tight.

"What are you d-d-doing ? Let go of me."

"You might be going into shock, Clover. You need to relax."

"Well, trapping me in your arms isn't going to help."

"Just take deep breaths."

"Just let me go."

She struggles, but I don't ease up. "You need to calm down. This is a fear response and if you go into actual shock, you could die."

"Shut up. That's stupid."

"It's true. This shaking you're doing? It's not the shivers like you're cold. It's because your body is shutting down. Look." I grab her wrist and press my finger against it. "Your pulse is racing. You need to calm down. Take a few deep breaths."

She's stopped arguing with me, because obviously, I'm right. But the shivers continue.

"You're OK. I'm not gonna kill you."

She lets out a breath, but it's not relief.

"You're gonna live, Clover. This is no big deal. We've figured a way out and you can relax now."

Her only response is a huff. But she does breathe. Not deep, not at first. But gradually, over the next few minutes, she gets a more even rhythm going. The shivering stops being a constant thing and instead becomes more intermittent.

A few more minutes after that, and she's nearly better.

I could let go of her now and she would be OK. Alternatively, she could tell me to let go of her and I wouldn't have a reason not to. But neither of us does these things.

She says nothing while I hold her.

Which gives me time to think about how long it's been since I was even with a woman. Actually, how long it's been since I even had the luxury of thinking about being with a woman.

Six years.

When I think about this—about the prison time I served—I usually have one of two reactions. The first is anger, of course. Over the injustice of it all. I mean, so what? I left. So what? I never asked to be born in the Colonies. I never agreed to that. As a kid, I accepted it because I didn't know any better, but after going up top I knew that it was wrong to keep the world a secret.

And I'm not saying that the Colonies are terrible places. People generally seem to be happy. But that's because they don't think they have a choice. The adults know that there's another world up top, but it's not something they teach children. In school, when you're little and your brain is impressionable, you learn the history of the Colonies. About how the people up top were out of control and destroyed everything.

Which, in certain lights, could be considered true. I mean, no place is perfect and the up-top certainly has its vices. There are plenty of terrible things going on up there.

But these history books of ours fail to mention that our little sub-society wasn't made out of necessity, but choice.

Choices that were made generations ago now.

Choices we never got to make ourselves.

So why can't I just… choose something else?

"You, Riggs," my father told me when I asked him this, "are meant to lead. You have a role to play, a destiny to fulfill, and your petty, personal desires have nothing to do with anything."

I had just been pulled out of the tunnels. I was still covered from head to toe in dried mud the color of blood, standing there, in his office, as it flaked off my feet and onto his floor.

We were hosed off every night in the tunnels, but I had been pulled out mid-day. He did that on purpose. To contrast my new life with the old one I gave up.

But I didn't choose those tunnels either and this is when I realized how pointless it was to rebel. Because they would always find me. My father would always win. He's the general of the Colonies. I'm his only son. His only child. And my mother has been dead for decades now, so I'm literally all he has outside of work.

He doesn't even have a woman. Not a steady one, anyway. I'm sure he's got his pick of the whores, but he never remarried.

So I was standing there in his office, covered in flaking, red mud, so, so, so ready to promise him just about anything in order to get my life back. So that's what I did.

But it wasn't an empty promise.

My father would see through one of those in heartbeat.

"It's not my fault, Clover." I don't even know why I say it because she doesn't care.

She doesn't answer back, either. And she's not asleep, I can tell by the way she's breathing. The shivers are few and far between now, but she's not relaxed enough to be asleep.

"It's not your fault, either," I say. "It's just… the way it is."

The silence that comes after this statement feels very permanent. So I'm just starting to drift off to sleep when she finally answers.

"It takes resolve to leave. I know that better than most, since I was born into the cult of Disciple, West Virginia. And I don't mean it in a bad way. It's not a bad town. Certainly better than most, I think. But I wanted to make my own way in this world and then I wanted to come back. On my terms. As someone who left. Like Collin and Amon. And Lowyn, to a point. Though she never left, not really. She still gave it all up and did her own thing."

Clover turns now. All the way over so that we're facing each other. I can't make out much of her face since the moonlight isn't really shining through the window anymore, but I can see enough of it to understand she's… sad.

"It's not your fault," she says. "I don't know what happened to you, but I guess it was bad. So fine. You're doing this because you need it. But just because it's not your fault doesn't mean it's not your decision."

"I'm not gonna kill you. You're not gonna die. It's a few months, that's it."

She shrugs up one shoulder, not agreeing with me. "Yeah. What's a few months of imprisonment in the grand scheme of things?"

She doesn't say it with malice or even sarcasm, but she means it that way.

She thinks I'm weak.

And I'm just about to protest—not explain myself, because it's none of her fucking business what I'm doing or why I'm doing it, but just deny it.

But as I open my mouth to do that, she nudges closer to me until her forehead is pressed against my chest. Then she lets out a sigh. "Don't be mean. Please don't be mean. I've had enough. I can't take any more. If you're not going to be nice, just say nothing."

"Let you have the last word?" I say it a little bit jokingly, since that was our fight earlier. But she doesn't seem to find it funny. So I sigh as well. "I'm literally trying to save your life. I'm not being mean."

"You were about to be."

I press my lips together and shake my head just a little bit. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Clover. You just do not understand."

"You're wrong. I absolutely understand. It's not even that complicated. You value… you . I am no one. And that's fine because it's true. I can live with this. All I'm asking is that you don't make it harder than it already is."

"By stating my opinion ?" It comes out a little bit snide, but for good reason. "I'm looking out for you, ya know. I'm doing my best. Who the hell is looking out for me, Clover? Oh, that would be no one. You're the one making this harder than it has to be, not me."

"Good night, Riggs."

"Right. Gotta have that last word. Good night, Clover."

I stay awake for hours , despite being so exhausted I can't even open my eyes. I just keep repeating her words over and over in my head. Just because it's not your fault doesn't mean it's not your decision .

Fine. It was my decision. Is my decision.

Locking her up in a Lazuli Waystation is the only way I can think of to keep her alive. And there's really nothing to complain about. She will be alone, sure. But she will safe, and warm, and fed, and hydrated. And it's only three months. It would be one thing to be left in the bunker with no idea when you'd be allowed out, but going in with a release date should make it easier.

She can count down the days. I'll even buy her a calendar so she can cross them off one by one. Three months. She'll live. And wasn't that the only point of this whole plan? To let her live?

But being here in bed with her, with my arms around her… I dunno. I feel like the bad guy. And I hate feeling like the bad guy.

Collin Creed needs to go. The decision to kill him wasn't my call, but even if it was, I would've come to the same conclusion as my father. He knows way too much. And not only that, he knows me .

He needs to go. They all need to go.

I don't think that's occurred to Clover just yet. That Collin's friends will go down with him.

All my thoughts get stuck here as I let that last bit echo in my thoughts.

It's enough to keep me up for hours.

Because they're not just Collin's friends.

They're my friends too.

When the sun rises and Clover begins to stir, I've still got my arms around her. I'm not sure I actually slept at all. Dozed would be a better word to describe what I've been doing for the past seven hours.

Clover slept soundly, though. So she's looking—and probably feeling—a lot better this morning than she did last night.

She wriggles free of my embrace, turns over, and then lets out a long sigh.

"That's not a good sign."

She looks over her shoulder, side-eying me. "What?"

"That tired sigh. We've got a very long day ahead of us and I'll need you to be in top performance condition when we meet with Ike."

She gives me a little scoff. "I grew up in Disciple, Riggs . I know how to act."

"I bet you do."

She throws the covers off, and sits up in bed, swinging her feet over the side. "I need a shower. Can I take a shower?"

"Of course. I can't take you down below looking like some kind of…" I search for a word that won't be too disparaging, but she comes up with one first.

"Kidnapping victim?"

"I was gonna say ‘vagrant,' but that works too."

She stands up, clearly done with me, and heads straight for the door. "I need to get some clean clothes out of the trailer."

I get up too and cut her off by placing an arm in front of the exit. "I'll go with you."

"Of course you will."

I slip my boots on without lacing them up and we go downstairs. Outside, the sun is bright and it's a very nice late-summer morning. I parked the trailer behind the barn, but it's visible from where we're standing on the back porch, so Clover starts heading in that direction, ignoring me.

"So… we're back to animosity, are we? Even though I've found a way to keep you alive?"

She doesn't turn to answer me, but I can practically hear the eyeroll she's doing.

"I am saving you, ya know."

"You're the only reason I need saving, Riggs. I haven't done a single thing wrong."

"That doesn't invalidate my point."

She stops and whirls around, locking her angry eyes directly with mine. "You win, OK? It's not your fault, it's just my bad luck, and holding me prisoner in some underground cell for three months to keep me out of the way while you murder Collin Creed is no big deal. There. How's that? Do you feel absolved now?"

"It's the best I can do."

"Fine. I get it. But can we just stop this?" She does a little wag with her finger here, pointing back and forth at the two of us.

"Stop what?"

"The banter. I'm not interested in you. At all ."

I make a face. "I'm not interested in you either."

"Then stop talking to me."

Before I can say anything else, she whirls back around and continues walking, briefly disappearing around the corner until I catch up.

She goes right to the trailer and opens it up, then lets out a long sigh as she drops her head in a gesture of defeat.

"What's wrong now?"

"I didn't pack this trailer, so I have no idea where my clothes are."

I step forward and peek inside the trailer. It's a complete mess. Like it was packed by random hotel staff who knew they didn't have to deal with it on the other side of things.

I start pulling boxes out of the trailer without commenting, and after a couple of seconds, she helps. It takes about twenty minutes of time we don't really have before she finds an acceptable outfit. It's hiking pants, a long-sleeve shirt, and a modern pair of hiking boots. It's all very matchy in various two-tone combinations of black and burnt-orange. Then she stuffs a backpack with similar outfits and a few other things, and then we put all her shit back into the trailer.

We go back into the house and head to the second-floor bathroom. She stops in front of the door, crosses her arms, and looks up at me. "That shower invitation was a one-time thing."

I scoff. "I'm not trying to hook up with you. I don't even want to see you naked. You're like a six, Clover. I can do better than a six."

Her mouth drops open. "Six?" She guffaws. "I am not a six."

"Six point two five. Maybe . But you're definitely not a seven."

"Well… you're like a four."

"Woman, I am a nine point seven five at least ."

She practically snorts. "You fancy yourself a Collin Creed, do ya? Because that's what a nine point seven five looks like, Riggs."

"Right," I sneer. "Good old Collin. He's everything to everyone, isn't he?"

"What is it with you and Collin? Do you know him or something?"

I want to say something snappy back, then end this conversation, but I don't know what to say, and the seconds are ticking off, and it's one of those situations where silence says everything.

"Oh, my God. You do know him!"

"Just take your shower. I'll wait out here."

"No. Tell me how you know him. Of course, I know he was military. That's why he left town back when he was a kid." Her eyes are doing that back-and-forth searching thing as she stares into mine. Which means her mind is working overtime. "Wait." She points her finger at me. "You know him because… the two of you worked together. Whatever secret shit he's been up to these past dozen years, you were there. You were part of it too."

Again, there are things I could say here to cut off this line of thinking, but none of them come out of my mouth. So again, the silence says everything.

"Holy shit. You're friends with him. What about Amon?"

"What about him?"

"So you know him too?"

The scoff that comes out of my mouth is much more pronounced than I intended. "That's a stupid question. If you know Collin, you know Amon. They are shadows of one another."

Clover's shoulders relax a little as she eyes me. "Well, that's not cryptic."

"Are you gonna take your shower or not? Because we're on a schedule here."

She frowns. "You're gonna kill him too? Amon, I mean. You're gonna turn Lowyn and Rosie into widows before they even get married?"

"Can you just take your shower?"

"Can you just answer one question truthfully?"

I shrug. "Fine. If it'll get you moving. Yes. I guess the answer is yes. Your friends will be widows before they ever get married. There's no happily ever after in this life and I'm not a prince. There. Are you happy now?"

Her eyelids drop, her shoulders tense up, and her mouth turns into a flat line instead of a frown. All signs of resolve. Which is better than resistance, so I'm good with it. I pan a hand to the bathroom. "You've got three minutes. Better make the most of them."

She tips her chin up, turns on her heel, goes into the bathroom, and shuts the door on my face. The lock turns on the other side, and then, a moment later, there's a sound of water.

While she's doing that, I grab a pair of pants from my pack downstairs and search around until I find a length of cord in one of the nearby bedrooms, so when she steps out, freshly washed and changed into her new matchy clothes, I'm ready. But I'm slightly taken aback at her new coordinated outfit because she looks like she's about to do a photoshoot for a hiking catalog, so I chuckle.

"What's so funny?" These words of hers come out with a little sneer.

"Nothing. You're just very… put together."

Clover looks down at herself, then back up at me. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Wow. You're sensitive. There's nothing wrong with it. It's just very…"

"Coordinated?"

"That and…" I shrug. "Just… it's nice, that's all."

Her eyes narrow down. "You don't have to compliment me."

I raise an eyebrow. "Is that what I did?"

"I mean, you don't have to say anything to me. We're never going to be friends. Why would I be friends with a man who kills his friends? That makes no sense at all. So who cares what you think about my kidnapping outfit?"

"Wow." I blink at her, stunned at her insult because it hit the bullseye for sure. I shrug up a shoulder, blowing it off. "Fine, Clover. That outfit looks like shit on you." I pan a hand to the steamy bathroom. "It's my turn now."

"So? Go take a shower then."

"Well, you're coming in with me."

She shakes her head and folds her arms. "No. I'm not."

I grab both her wrists so quick, I've got the cord around them and I'm tying the knot before she can even process what's happening. "There," I say, once I'm done. "Now go back into the bathroom and sit your ass down on the floor. Because you cannot be trusted, Clover. You've got a lot of stupid ideas running around in that head of yours. So from this moment on, the two of us are together until the end."

Her chin juts out in defiance. But she turns and does as she's told.

I follow her in, close the door, lock it, and then look down at her as I kick off my boots. "Don't move. Because, if you recall, I've got no problem at all with chasing you down naked. I will tackle you before you get to the stairs and?—"

"No, let me guess." She puts up a hand to cut me off, but doesn't look up to meet my gaze. "Then you'll push me down them, leave my twisted and broken body to decay, and?—"

"Just stop."

Finally, she looks up. "What? That's your MO, right? Threaten women with gruesome acts to keep them compliant? God, I can't even imagine what your ex-girlfriends went through. I bet there was a lot of therapy afterward."

For some reason, I find this funny and the laugh that bursts out is inappropriately loud, especially inside a bathroom. It startles her and she shrinks back, pressing herself into the wall as she meets my gaze.

"You're crazy," I say.

"You're evil," she sneers back.

I reach over and turn on the shower. "Just be quiet and sit there until I'm done."

She turns her head when I start unbuttoning my pants and doesn't look back. I get in the shower, wash up, reach for a towel, dry myself off, and then grab my pants and put them back on before coming out.

Clover looks up at me, her eyes lingering on my chest, wet again from the water dripping off my hair. I wink at her as I slip my feet into my boots. "Told ya."

"Told me what?"

"Nine point seven five, baby. Now let's go."

I stop at my pack on the first floor, pull on a shirt, stuff yesterday's clothes back inside, and hike the pack up onto my back. Then we leave.

Outside, Clover pans a hand in the direction of the woods just as I take a scarf out of my pocket, so she ends up pointing at me instead. "What's that?"

I look down at the scarf, then smile and look back up at her. "Your blindfold."

It's very apparent that she didn't think I'd follow through with the blindfold. Like maybe our night together invalidated my suspicions about her. She pauses for a moment, maybe weighing the pros and cons of complaining, but she's so done with me, she holds her protests in and says nothing as I tie the scarf good and tight around her eyes.

"You'll have to hold my hand, so don't take it the wrong way, OK? I don't like you, Clover. You don't look good in those clothes, and… well, as I've already mentioned, you're not even pretty."

She just laughs out her response. "I'm so out of your league, Riggs, it's not even funny."

I don't laugh because she would hear that. But I do smile as I take her hand. I guess, if I have to kidnap a woman, I could do worse than Clover Bradley. She's obstinate, spoiled, and has no common sense at all, since she's been arguing with me for days even though I've been threatening to kill her. But she's right about one thing, she's not a four. I wouldn't ever admit that she's a ten, but… yeah. In another life, I'd hit that. "Come on, my little pet. Let's go."

She's got no time to internalize that insult because I walk forward and immediately, she's stumbling. "Slow down. I'm blind here, OK? You can't just walk off and expect me to keep up!"

"We're literally in the grass behind the house, Clover. There's nothing to trip over."

She gives me a derisive snort. "Says the privileged man with eyes."

I suck in a deep breath and hold it, looking up at the sky. I'm frustrated and we're one minute in to this very long trip. When I let the breath out, I force myself to be calm. "Sorry. I'll go slow." I start forward again, but she doesn't move. "Now what?"

"Can I hold on to your arm instead of your hand?"

Is she serious? I can't tell. "Sure. You can hold on to my arm."

The breath she lets out comes off as relief, but I'm not convinced it is. I just have a feeling that she's playing me. Her hands start feeling for my arm and then she's gripping my bicep tight with both hands. It's a weird, confining feeling and immediately, I've got an urge to push her off.

But then she says, "I swear I'll walk faster this way. I will. If I stumble, you'll hold me up."

"Fine." And I start walking again.

As soon as we enter the woods she sighs. "The shade feels good."

She's not wrong, but I don't say anything back, hoping to deter her from being chatty because I'm really starting to think this whole plan is a bad idea that might get me killed.

Apparently, my silence has nothing to do with her eagerness to talk because just a few seconds later, a story about her childhood comes spilling out of her mouth. "When I was a kid these woods were more like my first home than my second. I was mad, crazy in love with horses. Still am, really. Just no time or money to keep that habit going. But as a kid, I had every day after school and all summer long to play as I wished and my parents paid for everything."

"Must've been nice." I say this absently as I direct her to the right where a mostly hidden path takes us back around to where I actually need to be in order to find my way back to the camp I made before I went to her house and made all these fun times possible.

"It was nice."

"So you're like… what? A little rich princess?"

She sighs before answering. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"Isn't it?"

"If you were a horse-obsessed girl, wouldn't you want to be a little rich princess?"

"I guess."

"So it's not a bad thing."

"You do realize that you're one of the under one percent, right? Point zero-zero-one, or whatever."

"I'm really not. My family is Disciple, West Virginia, rich, not like entire USA rich. Of course, Disciple is better off than most West Virginia towns because of the Revival. But they just decided very early on that they would sacrifice for me. They gave up the boats and the trips to Europe so I could have a perfect childhood."

"Well, that's amazing."

"Is this a sore spot? Your parents didn't do the same?"

"Weren't you just warning me not to talk to you ten minutes ago? We're not friends, remember?"

"I never said we were. I'm just passing time. It's better than walking blindfolded through the woods with a kidnapper in silence."

"Is it, though?"

"Anyway, I'm not rich now. I used all my Disciple money—we get a windfall when we turn eighteen for all the work we did as children—and I spent all mine on buying the house from my parents."

"Bet you're regretting that right about now."

"No. I'm not. I'm going to open up an event center. For weddings. That's what I do at the hotel—well, what I did before they fired me. One day it's gonna be great. All fixed up and beautiful. And every stall in the barn will have a horse in it."

"That's your dream, huh? Planning weddings?"

"It's not a bad dream. What's yours?"

"To live." I say this without thinking. It just comes out. And as soon as it does, I want to take it back.

"Wow," Clover says. "That's pretty…" She falters for a word.

"Sad?"

"No. I was gonna say… third world."

I actually stop walking to look at her and scoff. "What?"

"Sorry. That was a very under-one-percent thing to say, wasn't it?"

"‘Third world' of me. Wow. I'm actually speechless."

"I'm just saying, your little underground world must be pretty messed up if your dream is to live . You might as well be a child slave in a lithium mine, Riggs. That's how third-world your dream is."

"As compared to your stupid wedding thing? Come on. I'll take ‘live' over that any day."

"You don't like pretty things and happy days? Because that's what weddings are. The ones I plan are."

"It's just, in the grand scheme of things, kinda stupid."

"Which part? The pretty decorations? The tear-jerking declaration of love? The fabulous party? Which part of a wedding is kinda stupid, Riggs?"

"All of it."

"So you don't believe in love?"

"Ya know, I liked you better when you were locked up in the dungeon."

"Because I didn't make you think about your lack of ambition?"

"No. Because I could close the door on your face and walk away."

"Well, you'll get your chance to do that again, don't worry. I'll be locked up tight in your little bunker soon enough."

"Which, again, is the best plan ever."

"Says you."

"Yeah. Says me. Because the alternative is leaving you to die in that dungeon of yours."

"I think someone would save me."

I stop walking again. And once again I scoff. "Is that right? Holy shit, woman. You really do think you're some kind of princess, don't you?"

"No. Well"—she chuckles here—"yes. I kinda do fancy myself a princess. But what I meant was that people would be looking for me. Clarissa, my boss at the Yonder, she's probably been calling me for days. It's midweek and she's busy with her own life, so she's not worried. Yet. But if I don't answer in the next day or two, she's gonna come looking for me."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes. And she knows about Lowyn. She's met her. So she would call Lowyn's store looking for her to ask about me. And then Lowyn would start calling me, and me being unreachable, this would set off alarm bells. She would get in her car and drive down to my house, figuring I went home after being fired and kicked out of my apartment. Then she would find the Navigator and the trailer and she would go inside and I would have heard all this, so I'd be pounding on the trapdoor—which she knows about because we've been best friends all our lives—and she would rescue me. And then, after I told her my story, she'd call Collin and… well, your dream would be over. Because he would kill you."

I laugh. "So I should… what? Let you go and keep me and my dream alive?"

"It wouldn't be the worst answer to this problem."

"Well, that's a very nice story, Clover. And you delivered it with confidence. But it's got one fatal flaw."

"No, it doesn't."

"Oh, it does. Because your dramatic, fairy-tale rescue hinges on your boss, Clarissa. And if you were so confident that she would get this whole liberation scheme rolling, you would've stayed put. You had plenty of water to last you a week, maybe even two if you rationed correctly. Food was never going to be the thing that killed you down there. So again, it's a nice story. Something that would work in a movie or a book. But this is real life and you don't believe it."

She thinks about this for a moment, then sighs. "Fine. I hedged. The odds of you letting me live as a prisoner in a bunker were slightly higher than the ones that depended on Clarissa finding time to care about me after her big promotion."

"Well, admitting that is very mature of you."

"There's no point in lying to you, let alone myself. I have no power here. And even though I gave it a shot, you're not gonna let me go. You don't seem like a man who reevaluates bad plans."

I stop walking again, turning to look at her. "It's not a bad plan. It's the only one that keeps you alive."

"So you can kill Collin Creed before he kills you?"

"Look. I get that you grew up with him or something. So maybe you were friends. Maybe you think he's a good guy, or whatever. But he's not. You have no idea who that man is. None, Clover. You have no idea the things he's done."

"And you do?"

I don't answer her. Just start walking, making her stumble.