Chapter Ten
The sun was starting to set when they returned to the farmhouse. They only went inside long enough to get another meal of MREs and protein bars out of their packs and sat on the porch, watching the sun go down.
Usually Cam hated downtime, hated quiet periods, or inactivity. He’d worked hard since joining the military, going above and beyond to do his small part in this decades-long war, even though maybe in the long run his contributions hadn’t made much of an impact.
But this time was different. This time, he’d been tasked with a mission that could actually provide them a turning point, could change the tides of this war once and for all.
In the past, he’d always hated getting even five minutes to himself. Would go find something extra to do, because in the quiet times, that’s when the thoughts and memories caught up with him. That’s when he started thinking about what the enemy might be up to—especially since the bombing on base a few months ago.
Yet this evening, as he ate his unappetizing protein bar, made small talk with Bren, listened to the birds and insects chirping, and watched how the golden light of the setting sun washed over the landscape, for once he didn’t want to be anywhere else, to be doing anything else.
Maybe because he could see a storm coming and knew he had to enjoy this lull, as it might be the last one he got for a while. Perhaps finally separating Bren and Jordie in his mind had also altered other, less noticeable things. Whatever the reason, he was probably too damn relaxed, considering they were currently hanging out behind enemy lines.
“We should head inside,” he said, reluctance clear in his voice once the sun had completely disappeared, leaving the sky a deep purple gray.
It was much harder to see in the darkened house, but they managed to get their bedrolls set up on the kitchen floor. A chill had already started creeping in. Would have been nice to set a fire in the hearth, but they couldn’t risk either the light or the smoke.
“I’ll take first watch,” he offered once they were ready for the night.
She cast him a quick glance, and even in the shadows, he could see she was ready to argue.
“You’ve still got that ankle to look after, and like I said before, I’m trained for this kind of mission. You’re not used to walking so many long hours. Take the rest while you can get it.”
“Fine,” she muttered, huffing as she climbed into her bedroll.
Turned out the woman could be reasonable. Maybe she was more tired than she’d let on.
He shifted to sit with his back against the door. The sounds of birds gave way to night insects, and a small silver sliver of light cut across the floor from one of Ilari’s moons.
It’d probably been an hour and a half since the sun had gone down, when a scraping noise emanated from the front of the house, echoing through the still night shadows.
Cam scrambled over to Bren, gathering his pack and bedroll as he went. When he got to her, he shook her shoulder, setting his hand lightly over her mouth—not enough to freak her out when she came around and realized someone had their hand on her face, but just enough for her to realize she needed to be quiet.
As he’d hoped, she quickly roused, staring up at him with wide, questioning eyes, just as a very definite creak of floorboards reached him.
He tugged at the fastening on the side of her bedroll, leaning down closer to her so she’d hear his whisper.
“There’s someone in the house.”
She gave a single nod and then shimmied out of her bedroll. Leaving her to it, he grabbed her pack and hurried over to the pantry, shoving everything in as quickly as he could without making a noise.
Bren joined him, and he pulled her in, flush up against him, swinging the door over and closing them into almost complete darkness, apart from the tiny crack he left to see through.
He shifted, trying to make more room in the impossibly small space. Bren pressed harder into him, muttering a curse under her breath. Those curves of hers he’d always tried his best to ignore were currently imprinting themselves on the length of his body, sending his blood surging, even though he had other things he should be putting his full concentration toward.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered, even though they should have maintained absolute silence.
“Put my hand in a cobweb,” she whispered in return.
“And?” He bent slightly so he could see more clearly through the crack of the doorjamb.
“So, there was a big-ass spider in it earlier today. If I get bitten, you’re going to know about it, McAllister.”
“Swap,” he said, landing his hands on her hips.
“What?” She sounded confused.
“Hurry, before whoever it is comes in here. Let’s swap places.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but spun her like they were dancing. Except, he managed to bump both his elbow and knee by the time they’d reversed positions and he ended up on the spider-inhabited side of the cupboard.
Shifting once again, he put his eye to the crack, waiting and watching the shafts of moonlight coming in through the windows. For a few long minutes, there was nothing but silence, and he started questioning whether the person had heard them and left, or maybe he’d just imagined it in the first place.
But then a light tread of footsteps preceded a slight shadow entering the kitchen.
It was a kid. A small kid wearing layers of ragged clothing and light hair of indeterminate color poking out from beneath as overlarge knitted cap.
He glanced at Bren. “It’s just a kid.”
Though he couldn’t quite see her face in the darkness, he got the sense her features twisted a little.
The kid pulled a few things out of their pockets—food, it took him a second to work out. Because none of it was anything he would have ever touched. Scraps and leftovers that were obviously other people’s trash.
Just as the kid raised the first bite to eat, desperation lit in his chest and he burst out of the cupboard.
“Wait, don’t eat that!”
The kid whipped around, took one look at him with wide, terrified eyes, and then bolted.
“Idiot,” Bren muttered as she shoved past him to chase after the kid.
Okay, clearly he could have handled that a lot better. But he couldn’t stand by and watch the kid eat something that’d probably make anyone sick.
He shook his head at himself and trailed after Bren. The kid went out one of the front windows, but Bren took the door, the screen squeaking and then slamming as she went through. He lost sight of them until he got out onto the porch.
The kid was fast, but halfway across the yard, under the silver moonlight, Bren managed to gain ground and reached out to catch the scampering bundle.
However, the kid started up a howling like nothing he’d ever heard before. Bren picked the kid up and hurried back toward the farmhouse.
“That noise needs to stop now,” he said loudly to be heard over the racket as he held the door open for her and the kid, who appeared to be kicking and fighting her hold.
“She’s scared out of her mind,” Bren answered, heading back toward the kitchen.
She? The ragged bundle fighting like a hellcat was a little girl?
In the kitchen, Bren set the girl down on a chair, but she immediately sprung up and made a run for it. However, when she saw Cam standing in the doorway, she quickly switched directions, but ended up scrunching herself into an empty corner of the kitchen, her cries turning to whimpers.
Jesus. The sound was doing a number on his central nervous system, making his heart clench. Why the hell was she out here alone in the dark, eating what amounted to garbage? Every cell of his body ached for her in a way he’d never felt before.
Bren cast him a desperate glance, as if she was as clueless what to do about this as he was. But then she crouched down and shuffled closer to the small girl.
“Hey, we’re not trying to hurt you. We just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
The girl didn’t look up, but pushed herself tighter into the corner.
Bren backed up, then looked to him again, and he could see in her troubled gaze that this upset her as well.
He glanced around, gaze passing over the pathetic pile of scraps again, sparking an idea.
Hurrying to the cupboard where he’d stashed their packs earlier, he shoved his hand into one without even checking whose it was, searching by feel alone since he couldn’t see anything in the dark.
He came up with a couple of MREs and went back to the corner of the kitchen, going with Bren’s play to crouch down and make himself look less imposing.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he started in a low, calm voice. “I just didn’t want you to eat the food you brought. I was worried it would make you sick. If you’re hungry, I’ve got something here that’s much better.”
The whimpering stopped and the girl shifted slightly to peek out at him through the mop of tangles falling from beneath the skewed, knitted cap. She stared at his extended hand, where he held out the MREs.
“They’re good. I promise.” He ripped one open and took a bite to demonstrate.
Well, maybe good was stretching it, but they wouldn’t make her sick, at least.
Finally, she moved, shooting out a small hand with lightning fast reflexes to snatch the food from his hand. She sniffed it once, then nibbled on the corner. But the poor kid must have been starving, because she then took a huge bite, gulping down the MRE in a matter of moments.
Bren nudged him, and he glanced over to see her holding out a canteen. He took it and then looked back at the girl.
“Thirsty?”
She was already reaching for the water as he started to pass it over.
Thighs starting to cramp, he shifted to sit on the floor, handing over two protein bars and watching her devour them like she hadn’t eaten properly in months.
“Better?” he asked once she took another drink and wiped her mouth on the tattered sleeve of her jacket.
She gave a hesitant nod, glancing back and forth between Bren and him.
“Where are your parents?” he asked gently, not sure how to handle such a small person, but needing to know what her story was.
“My dad is at war,” she replied in a surprisingly strong voice. “My mom went to the next village from ours to find work and didn’t come back.”
Her voice hitched on the last few words and she glanced away, expression twisting as though she was working hard not to cry.
“I look after myself,” she added in a very definite tone.
“How long?” Bren asked quietly, a note of disbelief in her voice.
The girl looked down at her ragged clothes, pulling at a thread that’d obviously been pulled many times before. “I’m not sure, exactly. A few months.”
Christ. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. And she’d lasted months on her own? His stomach clenched on the thought that tonight wouldn’t have been the first time she’d eaten scraps other people had thrown out.
“Was this your home?” Bren prompted, not seeming as floored by the revelation as he’d been.
“No.” She glanced around the kitchen. “My home was in the village. One day, the soldiers came and took everything from our house. I hid, because I knew if they found me, they’d send me to one of their schools, and I’d never see my mom again. Everyday I go back to the village and wait near our house.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I hope she’s not angry at me for letting the soldiers take all our things.”
Unable to help himself at the heartbreaking words, Cam took her hand. “I’m sure she’ll understand, sweetheart.”
In truth, this girl wasn’t going to see either of her parents again. He didn’t know for sure what had happened to them—the most likely scenario was that her father had died in the war, then her mother…well, who knew? There were a hundred terrible scenarios for what could have happened to her when she’d gone to find work. But the CSS wouldn’t have come and cleaned out the house unless they knew for a fact that the occupants were dead and gone.
As for this little trooper, she was lucky she hadn’t been caught and sent to one of the CSS schools for orphans, where too many of Ilari’s children had ended up. From the accounts he’d heard, those places were hell—made to work sunup to sundown, religious brainwashing, and only fed just enough to sustain them.
“What’s your name?” Bren had shuffled closer, her shoulder brushing his as she leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair back from the girl’s face.
“Neve.” The little girl sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
“Well, Neve,” he said, adding a hint of false cheeriness to his voice. “I’m Cam and this is Bren. Do you mind if we stay here a little while with you tonight?”
She shrugged, but he could see the smallest flicker of hope in her eyes. “Do you have anything else to eat?”
He laughed, glancing at Bren, who seemed to be blinking back a sheen of moisture.
“I think we can rustle up something.”
Neve got up from where she’d been crouching and went over to the table to gather up the scraps. But instead of throwing them away, she moved them into one of the empty cupboards that had a few other knickknacks stashed inside—probably the girl’s only possessions.
“I can save these for later, then.”
Bren closed her eyes, an expression of pain chasing over her features. He clasped a hand on her arm, squeezing gently.
He had no idea what the hell he was going to do about this kid. But he did know two things for sure. One, over his dead body was she going to eat those scraps. And two, they couldn’t leave her here by herself.
Except, there was a major complication to that caveat—they were considered the enemy here, they had a mission to complete, and the coming days would only bring more danger. Not exactly the kind of jaunt anyone should be taking a kid along.
They had a few hours before they’d planned to head out to the crash site. Once Neve was settled, he’d have a quiet chat with Bren and see what her thoughts were. Considering the way it’d looked like her heart was breaking, he was fairly sure he knew what Bren’s answer was going to be; she’d want to help the kid, no matter the cost.