Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

it.”
    Something punches me in the gut so hard I’m afraid I’m actually going to be sick. I’m seeing spots, struggling to keep myself standing, fighting to ignore the image of Warner dead, his body crumpled in red.
    “Hey—you okay?” Adam pulls me to the side. Takes a good look at my face.
    “I’m okay,” I lie to him. Nod too many times. Shake my head once or twice. “I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, but I’ll be fine.”
    He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
    “I’m positive,” I lie again. I pause. Grab his shirt. “Hey— just be careful out there, okay?”
    He exhales a heavy breath. Nods once. “Yeah. You too.”
    “Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Kenji interrupts us. “Today is our day to die, ladies.”
    Adam shoves him. A little.
    “Oh, so now you’re abusing the crippled kid, huh?” Kenji takes a moment to steady himself before punching Adam in the arm. “Save your angst for the battlefield, bro. You’re going to need it.”
    A shrill whistle sounds in the distance.
    It’s time to go.

SIXTY-FOUR
    It’s raining.
    The world is weeping at our feet in anticipation of what we’re about to do.
    We’re all supposed to split off into clusters, fighting in tight groups so we can’t all be killed at once. We don’t have enough people to fight offensively so we have to be stealthy. And though I feel a pang of guilt for admitting it, I’m so happy Kenji decided to come with us. We would’ve been weaker without him.
    But we have to get out of the rain.
    We’re already soaked through, and while Kenji and I are wearing suits that offer at least a modicum of protection against the natural elements, Adam is wearing nothing but crisp cotton basics, and I’m worried we won’t last long like this. All members of Omega Point have already scattered. The immediate area above the Point is still nothing but a barren stretch of land that leaves us vulnerable upon exiting.
    Lucky for us, we have Kenji. The 3 of us are already invisible.
    Anderson’s men aren’t far from here.
    All we know is that ever since Anderson arrived, he’s been going out of his way to make a point about his power and the iron grip of The Reestablishment. Any voice of opposition, no matter how weak or feeble, no matter how unthreatening or innocuous, has been silenced. He’s angry that we’ve inspired rebellion and now he’s trying to make a statement. What he really wants is to destroy all of us .
    The poor civilians are just caught in his friendly fire.
    Gunshots.
    We automatically move toward the sound echoing in the distance. We aren’t saying a word. We understand what we need to do and how we have to operate. Our only mission is to get as close as possible to the devastation and then to take out as many of Anderson’s men as we can. We protect the innocent. We support our fellow Point men and women.
    We try very hard not to die.
    I can make out the compounds creeping closer in the distance, but the rain is making it difficult to see. All the colors are bleeding together, melting into the horizon, and I have to strain to discern what lies ahead of us. I instinctively touch the guns attached to the holsters on my back and I’m momentarily reminded of my last encounter with Anderson—my only encounter with the horrible, despicable man—and I wonder what’s happened to him. I wonder if maybe Adam was right when he said that Anderson might be severely wounded, that perhaps he’s still struggling to recuperate. I wonder if Anderson will make an appearance on the battlefield. I wonder if perhaps he’s too much of a coward to fight in his own wars.
    The screams tell us we’re getting closer.
    The world around us is a blurry landscape of blues and grays and mottled hues and the few trees still standing have a hundred shaky, quivering arms ripping through their trunks, reaching up to the sky as if in prayer, begging for relief from the tragedy they’ve been rooted in. It’s enough to make me feel sorry for the plants and animals forced to bear witness to what we’ve done.
    They never asked for this.
    Kenji guides us toward the outskirts of the compounds and we slip forward to stand flush against the wall of one of the little square houses, huddled under the extra bit of roof that, at least for a moment, grants us reprieve from the clenched fists falling from the sky.
    Wind is gnawing at the windows, straining against the walls. Rain is popping against the roof like popcorn against a pane of