Page 75 of Silver Elite

“All right. Then let the trap win. Or…I suppose you could always go the route of the horned bear.”

I shiver again, because of all the predators roaming the Continent, the horned bear is my least favorite. They’re rare, and certainly beautiful, but if you see one in the flesh, you’re not likely to survive the encounter. They’re angry creatures. Maybe because they came into existence because of a mutation. Victims of radiation. Like me, I guess. But the horned bear is far more vicious than I am. They’re known to maul or gore without provocation. Uncle Jim killed one in the Blacklands when I was seven, but not before one of those lethal horns pierced his side, slicing off a chunk of flesh. We feasted that night, but I had nightmares about those horns for weeks.

“You know what a horned bear does in a trap, right? He could gnaw off a limb like the white coyote, but he doesn’t. He stays alive for as long as he can, even if he’s weak, even if he’s on the brink of death. He hangs on, and then, when his captor comes for his body, he slices their throat with his horns. The white coyote escapes, but the bear stays just to kill the person who trapped him. He’s taking his enemy with him.”

I bite my lip.“I think I’d rather live than die for revenge. Wouldn’t you?”

He’s quiet.

“Wolf?”

“Revenge is overrated. Chew that leg off. Good night, Daisy.”

I roll onto my other side, still restless. Glin snort-snores from his bunk, and I swallow a groan and sit up.Chew that leg off.No. I’m notquite there yet. But I have to dosomething.With Wolf’s words echoing in my mind, I slide out of bed, careful not to disturb the others. I pull my uniform trousers over my sleep shorts and shove my bare feet into my boots.

For all I know, the doors are wired with alarms. Soldiers might swarm the hallway and tackle me to the ground. But I’m not trying to escape. Not tonight, anyway. If I’m caught wandering, I can say I felt like taking a walk. It’s not entirely a lie. I need fresh air right now. I can’t think in this stifling room with twenty strangers breathing the same air as me.

I reach the exit of the training facility and hesitate for only a moment before pushing the doors open. No alarms. Only silence. The cool night air rushes in to greet me. I glance behind me. All is quiet.

I slip out into the darkness.

Chapter 17

I wish I had more memories of my parents. I wish I could remember what they looked like, but their faces are nothing more than shadows in the recesses of my mind, half formed and elusive. Most of what I know about them came from Uncle Jim, but sometimes I’ll have a blurry recollection of them. My mother’s soothing voice, telling me it’ll be all right. My father’s laughter. The citrusy scent of his soap.

I don’t even know their names. In the rare instances Jim spoke of them, it was “your mother,” “your father,” “your parents.” I know she was a Mod. A Command colonel. I know he was a Prime. A soldier. I know they both served in Tin Block.

Uncle Jim told me once, after he’d knocked back half a dozen glasses of whiskey, that my mom was the bravest woman he’d ever known. That she was so cool under pressure, so rock-steady in the face of danger, you’d think she didn’t possess a fear gene.

“So she was like me,” had been my reply. A soft smile touched my lips, only to fade athisreply.

“No. You, Wren, are reckless. And reckless is not the same as brave.”

My lips had tightened with offense.

“Rushing headfirst into danger is not an act of courage,” he continued, gruff and impassive. “Your mother thought very hard about her every action. She went into every single situation with her eyes wide open. She knew exactly what she was doing and why.”

I hear those words in my head now as I move like a shadow across the base.

The Uprising isn’t saving me. That much is clear. They don’t care that Julian Ash was executed, and they don’t care that Wren Darlington is in the Command’s clutches. I need to come up with a plan to save my own ass.

A real plan. One I think and rethink and then think about again before implementing. I need to take a page out of Uncle Jim’s book, out of my mother’s book, and use some restraint. I can’t steal a motorcycle just because it happens to be left unattended. Finding a way off this base will require a good, solid plan.

And every good, solid plan starts with one thing.

Scouting.

I’m under no illusions about where I am. This is a military base. The perimeter is going to be beyond secure. Or…there might be a weak spot. Maybe two. Maybe someone makes a mistake one day. Leaves their post to take a leak. Forgets their keycard at the shooting range. Uncle Jim taught me to exploit other people’s errors, capitalize on their shortcomings.

With each step, a new dose of adrenaline courses through my veins. There are cameras everywhere. Blinking red. There are guards stationed at the towers. I know they see me, but nobody acknowledges me. Nobody shouts for me to return to my bunk.

It’s eerie.

I reach a courtyard and find myself staring up at a massive stone wall. At the bottom of the wall are two black metal gates. They’re open, but all I can see beyond them is gaping blackness. I gulp when I realize I know where I am. I know what’s on the other end of that tunnel.

I approach the gates at the same time a soldier patrolling the top of the wall notices me.

He jerks in surprise. “What are you—” Then he touches his ear and stops talking. Despite his narrowed eyes, he lets me pass through the gates.

---