I’m so stunned by this—that of all the conclusions he could have drawn, it’s that we’re out here for fun. That they think we would actually choose this for ourselves.
They’re going to punish us, I think, fear battering my anger. How do I stop this? What can I say? If I say I’m the one that set the fire, me and me alone, then will they let Mia off? I will work the rest of my life to pay off the damage if I have to.
“You’re lucky that someone called this in and our patrol was close enough to answer.”
Lucky is not the word I would have chosen in this situation, but I nod anyway, feeling my stomach flip.
“There’s no family contact listed for either of you,” he begins.
How completely unsurprising that my parents have figured out how to legally wash their hands of me. I’m “unclaimed,” too.
“But I have a notation that you”—the man nods toward Mia—“at least, are the ward of the government. Officer McClintock has been notified of your whereabouts.”
“My parents are dead,” Mia says, her voice wooden. “I’m with the only family I have left.”
I know she means her and Lucas, but the man seems to lump me into that family as well.
Another soldier, a young man, jogs up to us from behind one of the Humvees with a large cell phone in his outstretched hand. “Sir, there’s a call for you—”
The man swings around, and I can only imagine the expression on his face, judging from how quickly the blood drains from the young soldier’s.
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s from Washington.”
I lean forward, trying to catch every one of the man’s gruff words as he presses the phone to his ear and strides away, back in the direction of the ambulance. Mia sighs and rests her forehead against her knees, closing her eyes, but my mind is spinning itself sick, churning out one horrible theory after another, each a tiny needle moving through my veins. I can’t make out his words, but I can read the language of his body—the way he storms toward the paramedics and begins to gesture between Lucas on the gurney and something else, and they begin to gesture back.
The younger blue beret is standing a few feet away from us, his gaze fixed on that same scene, shifting his weight between his feet. My anxiety deepens to outright dread.
They know.
They know about Lucas. What he is. Where he should be. I don’t know how, but they found out, and now they’re going to take him away—
The man ends his call, gripping the phone in his hand for a moment. When he turns back toward us, it’s like Mia can feel the wave of furious heat pouring off him. She sits back up, her spine as rigid as the streetlights around us. She swings around toward me, eyes wide.
The man barks, “Load them!” to the soldier still standing over us. He windmills one arm, and it’s the signal that sets the gears around us into motion. The soldiers scatter, stomping out flares, packing up supplies.
“What’s going on?” Mia asks. “Hey—ow!”
We’re hauled up and deposited onto our half-frozen legs. I lean back, trying to see around him, see the ambulance. Doors are slamming, people are shouting; the buzz and crackle of radios electrifies my nerves until I think my blood is humming. The muscles in my right calf are so stiff, they send a lance of pain shooting up my knee, my thigh, my hip. The younger soldier has us both by the arms and all but drags us forward, toward the back of a black van. I try to drag my leg to slow us down, but Mia is the one who’s doing most of the work.
“Where are you taking us?” she’s shouting. “Where is Lucas? Lucas!”
“You can’t separate us, please,” I’m begging, “he’s a good person, he’s not what you think, don’t separate us, please!”
There are benches running along the sides of the van, cuffs dangling above them, a metal grating separating the two front seats from the back area. Up close, the soldier looks even younger than I thought; there’s still a fullness to his face, and his age is never more obvious than when he glances at me, frowning. He hesitates, a flash of pity cutting through the stiff mask of determination.
And I think about it. I do. If he’s soft, I can be hard. I can shove him, give Mia a chance to run—