I wait, but no other soldiers come over to get River. Looking around, I see Quaid and Oliver watching him from across the yard. I learn why a moment later. Grass and dirt moves over River’s body, covering him completely. Thirty seconds later, he sits up.
“What the hell?” he mutters angrily. “That bastard. I hate being put to sleep.”
“Here, let me help you up,” I say, reaching down with my hand. He takes it, but the second he stands, he pushes me away and stomps off. “You’re welcome.”
Frustrated and confused, I stare after him. Is he upset because he’s hurt that his friend accused him, or is he angry because Lance is telling the truth?
Beckett walks up to me. “Would you mind helping me get these people settled? There are twenty-two of them. We need to provide each one with clothes and food, then give them time to decompress.”
I paste a smile on my face. “Sure, but I don’t think we should lock them in their rooms, though. They’ve been prisoners long enough.”
A grim smile stretches across his face. “Completely agree. Follow me, and I’ll show you where we keep the supplies.” He scans my face. “I saw what happened with River. Don’t judge him until you know the full story. Sometimes, this world forces us to do things we would never do, including hurting our friends.”
Surprised, I turn to Beckett. “I won’t. Believe me. I’m not qualified to judge anyone.” After all, I killed two people. I acted in self-defense, but does that make it acceptable? I’m still not sure of the answer.
“I guess not,” he muses. His silver eyes have darkened to grey storm clouds.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask, the irony not escaping me. “I might not have empathic abilities or whatever like you, but I’m a good listener.”
“Some other time,” he murmurs, shifting his feet. It’s obvious he’s uncomfortable being on the other side of the proverbial couch. He stops at a large building with no windows. “This is our supply warehouse.”
“What is it with all the tan? Is that the only color the Army is allowed to use?”
He laughs, and the dimple in his chin deepens. Such a small thing, and yet, I’m practically drooling. “It is the official color. Want the real reason or the one they give us?”
Intrigued, I raise an eyebrow. “The real reason.”
“Some important general visited the bases in the 70s and decided everything needed to be uniformed and standardized,” he says, then laughs. “And cheap, of course. The Army buys things in bulk, you know. We have warehouses full of this paint.”
I laugh. “Clearly. This is an old base. Do the newer ones look like this, too?”
He tilts his head. “You never went to a base with Lionel?”
I shake my head. “Nope. He took a desk job when my parents died so he could be home with me. Most of the time, he worked from home reviewing contracts, or so he said. Now, I wonder what he really did.”
“Hmm,” he says, and I can tell he’s curious, too. “Anyway, they call it Creech Brown after the general himself.” He chuckles when I wrinkle my nose.
“And the official reason?”
“Technically, it camouflages the buildings. Enemies aren’t able to distinguish important buildings like operations from less important ones like the mess hall. And, supposedly, it makes the buildings harder to see from a distance,” he tacks on.
“Still fugly, if you ask me,” I say with a laugh, and he agrees with a chuckle.
We pile the supplies into several rolling carts by the door of the warehouse. Once they’re full, we start wheeling them toward the dorms.
I can’t quite figure him out. “You know, I’ve been around individuals in the military my whole life. When I was younger, my dad’s friends would come to visit. Plus, Lionel, of course.” I pause, wondering how to put my question. “You don’t seem like the military type.”
His lips curve in a wry smile. “I grew up wanting to help others. At the time, I didn’t know why. Now, I know it’s because I didn’t have any barriers. I used to soak up all the emotions from those around me. The weight of their feelings made me want to do something to ease their burdens. I thought about becoming a doctor, but I felt the emotions would be overwhelming.”
I raise both eyebrows. “And war isn’t?”
He shrugs. “When I joined, there was no war. I thought the brotherhood would be a great support for someone like me. And for a while it was.” He glances at me, and I see an ocean of sadness in his eyes. “Like Raven, the Army conducted experiments on those of us with powers. They made me do despicable things to the men and woman I called friends and colleagues. When I resisted, they brought in someone with mind control to force me, which is why I understand your aversion to it.”
“That’s the real reason the government doesn’t corral Raven,” I say, with a dawning note of terror. “They want a way to use and control us like their own personal army.” It makes sense. Why else would they condone Raven’s horrible methods?
Wind catches my hair, whipping it into my face, and I stop the cart.
“Here, let me,” he offers, smoothing it back from my face.
